


Found

by kevinfreakinsolo



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Image, Cutting, Depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care, Found Family, High School, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Modern Era, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Sad Jack Kelly, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Loathing, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Theatre, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23923867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kevinfreakinsolo/pseuds/kevinfreakinsolo
Summary: Jack Kelly is a 17 year old kid who has been in the foster system for more of his life than not. By now he's given up on finding his forever family and is counting down the days until he turns 18. Four months before the deadline, Miss Medda Larkin decides she is going to adopt him.
Relationships: Crutchie & Jack Kelly, David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Jack Kelly & Medda Larkin, Racetrack Higgins & Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 70
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically my first fic ever so please let me know what you think!! Also if I messed up anything about the foster/adoption process please lmk, I did the best research I could but most of my knowledge comes from watching Meet the Robinsons. Also, warning, I'm projecting a lot onto Jack so he's gonna be severely depressed and have some struggles with trauma and mental illness and such. At the beginning of any chapter with mention of such things, I will include a warning in the notes here. PLEASE read the tags and be careful!! Enjoy!!

“Kelly?” Mr. Wiesel poked his head in through the door to the bedroom that held eight boys, varying wildly in age. One boy, clearly the oldest, was laying in bed, doodling in a sketchbook. He looked up, surprised. 

“Jack Kelly?” repeated Mr. Wiesel to the room full of children. They all looked the same to him.

“Yeah, that’s me,” the boy replied cautiously.

“Someone is here to see you,” said Mr. Wiesel, or as Jack liked to call him, Weasel. 

“Who is it?” asked Jack, not moving from his bed.

“No one, if you keep ‘em waiting. C’mon, kid, I ain’t got all day.”

Disgruntled, Jack rolled out of bed and followed Weasel down the hall into a room where a kind-looking woman in her mid-to-late thirties was waiting alone.

“Well, Ms. Larkin, this is the oldest one we got,” Weasel said, referring to Jack as though he wasn’t even there. “I’ll let you two get to know each other,” he said as he walked out of the room without looking back.

Jack stared at the ground. He wasn’t sure who she was or why she was at all interested in him, and he didn’t really care. He was 17 and still in the foster system, and by now he had given up on expecting to ever find a family.

“Hello there,” the woman said kindly as she stood up. “My name is Medda Larkin. What’s yours?” she asked, sticking her hand out for him to shake.

“Jack. What’s it to ya?” mumbled Jack, hesitantly shaking her hand.

She paused as she took him in. He was clearly exhausted. His eyes, which hadn’t left the ground once the entire time he was in the room, had a haunted look and dark circles under them. His hair was rather scruffy, and the old hoodie he was wearing had definitely seen better days.

“Well, Jack, I’m here because I am looking to add to my family. So, if you’d be alright with it, I would like to adopt you.”

“Why?” he asked quietly, not taking his eyes off the ground. “I’m four months from growing out of the system, wouldn’t ya rather get a cute little kid you can watch grow up?” he added, somewhat bitterly.

“No one grows out of family, and everyone deserves to have one,” she replied gently, still trying to get him to meet her eyes. “Lots of people want little kids, but big kids need and deserve just as much love.”

“Well look, I appreciate what you’re tryna do, miss Medda, but I’ve been tossed around in the system since I was one’a those cute little kids, and ain’t no one ever give me a second look. An’ ya wanna know why?” He paused, but didn’t wait for her response. “It’s ‘cuz I’m what they call a ‘problem kid.’ Trust me, there’s a lotta great kids in here that need a family and deserve a chance, and I ain’t one’a them. Ya don’t wanna waste this chance on a loser who’ll be able to get outta here in a few months when there’s good kids trapped in here who could have a real shot.”

Medda gave him a long, steady look. Eventually she spoke. “Jack, I’m not going to force you into anything. You are seventeen years old, and I’m not going to treat you like a child. Family is a choice, and it is a two-way street. However, you should know that I do want you, specifically, to be a part of my family. I think you are a good kid who deserves a real shot, and I would consider it an honor to be a part of that with you and help you any way I can. So, while I won’t force you against your will, I am going to push a little bit- even if you don’t want to give yourself a shot, could you at least give me one?” 

Jack stared at the ground for a long time. On the one hand, he didn’t believe for one second that it would work out long-term or that he would actually be part of a family. On the other hand, Medda was a very kind woman, and even if it didn’t work out, he would be an adult in four months. If- when- she realized he really was too much to handle, he could just leave and never come back. He really didn’t have anything to lose here, and he didn’t have a solid enough reason to tell this woman no. So, after a long beat of silence, he gave a shrug. “I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not totally sure in exactly what direction I'm planning on taking this, so please let me know what you like and what you don't so I know if I should continue with this!! :) (If I do continue, Javid is the current plan. Sorry he hasn't come in yet, I do have plans!!)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medda takes Jack home. He meets the other boys who live there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, there's some allusions to Jack's self-harm and he holds a razor blade in his hand. He doesn't do anything with it, but I wanna be careful and sensitive! Like I said, I'm projecting onto these boys so they're gonna be goin Thru It. Upside is Race says "Fuggetaboutit" :D (Not in reference to the self-harm, just in general.)

“So this is your room,” said Medda. “It ain’t much, but it’s yours, for as long as you’d like it.” 

Jack looked around the room. There was a big window with a view of the city. On the opposite side of the room, there was a twin XL mattress sitting on a bedframe. The bedframe was a pleasant surprise- that was a hit or miss in the foster homes he had been in. More often than not, the mattress and boxsprings were directly on the floor. Between the bed and the window, an old-looking wooden desk was against the wall with a wheely office chair. Across the room from the desk was a closet next to a dresser with more drawers than Jack could possibly fill with what was in his one bag, not that that was saying much.

As he took in the room, Medda started talking again. “You can rearrange or decorate any way you want. This is your space now. If you’ve got any pictures or posters, feel free to hang them up. We could get them framed, if it’d make you feel more at home. Or if you don’t have any, we can get you some. What are you interested in?”

“I like art,” Jack said quietly as he set his bag down on the ground. What he didn’t tell her was that he never hung things up in places that he went because he didn’t want to get attached to anything. Or feel settled in any place. And the only things in his bag were some old clothes and his sketchbook. Well, those weren’t the only things.

“Oh good! I think I’ve got some art supplies around here somewhere. Just let me know whatever you need and we can get it, alright?”

“Sure. Thank you, Miss Medda,” said Jack. 

“Oh sweetie, you can just call me Medda. If we’re gonna be family, I’d prefer to be on a first-name basis.”

“Whatever you say, Medda.” 

There was a beat of silence. “Well, Jack, why don’t you uh, make yourself at home. There’s some sheets and blankets in the closet if you’d like to make your bed. I’m gonna go get started on dinner, but I’m right down the hall if you need anything, alright?”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said.

She paused for a moment as though she was going to say something more, then seemed to change her mind and retreat. 

As Jack began to make his bed, he thought back to how many times he had done this already. It was strange to think this would be the last time. He’d have to go to a new school. Again. It was August, and he was still a minor. At least it was just one more year to get through, and he’d never have to do it again. _Thank God,_ he thought. School had been a nightmare for him. He was more artistically inclined than academically, and with that in addition to never having a stable environment, he did not exactly impress any of his teachers. Plus, with never sticking around in one place for very long and not being able to afford new things very often, he wasn’t very popular amongst the students either. Best case scenario so far was at schools where he didn’t get noticed at all. The attention he got from students did not tend to be of the positive variety. Not by a long shot.

Honestly, Jack was surprised he had made it this far, not that he had ever told anyone that. Thinking about his future in any regard gave him severe anxiety, so he did his best not to. He knew he wanted to get out of New York. That much was certain. There was nothing for him here. He worried often that there wasn’t anything for him anywhere. But that was something else he tried not to think about. 

Jack looked at his bag sitting on the floor. He had no desire to unpack it. Unpacking tended to imply settling in. He always avoided it as long as he could, and while Medda was probably the kindest foster parent he had encountered thus far, it didn’t change his nature.

With a sigh, he sat down on the bed and pulled his bag up and into his lap to take inventory. Clothes. Sketchbook. Pencil case holding his art supplies. He opened up the case- wood pencils, colored pencils, watercolor palette, a couple of paintbrushes that had definitely seen better days. And at the bottom, two pencil sharpeners. One with the blade still attached. Jack opened up the second one just to make sure. The blade was right where he left it, loosely resting in the slot where the pencil was meant to go. Always reliable. He didn’t need to do it now, he just needed to be assured it was still there.

It wasn’t often that it happened. And never terribly bad. Sometimes, he just needed to blow off some steam. Usually, it happened when he started thinking about the things he tried so hard not to think about.

After putting everything back into his bag, he zipped it up and set it on top of the dresser. He jumped as he heard someone knock on his door. “Come in?” he called out. The door opened and a tall, lanky blond boy stepped in. Behind him, there was a shorter boy who walked with a crutch.

“You must be Jack,” he said. “I’m Race, and this is Crutchie. Medda told us to tell ya dinner’ll be ready in a bit and it’s time to wash up.”

“Thanks,” he said. “How long youz guys been here?”

“With Medda, ya mean?” asked Race as he jumped onto Jack’s desk and sat down. “Almost a year, I think. Crutchie’s been here longest.”

“Long as I can remember, almost. Medda was my godmother, and my folks were in a bad accident when I was a kid. She took me in right away,” Crutchie said as he sat in the wheely chair.

“So you ain’t neva been in the system, huh?” asked Jack.

“Guess I lucked out. I ain’t heard many good things about it from the otha fellas that been through here. I neva woulda made it with this bum leg. I got sick when I was real young, and it neva recovered.”

“Lotta fellas been through here?” asked Jack.

“Oh, yeah. Medda loves takin’ care’a kids. Keeps in touch widdem, too, afta they get outta here,” said Race. “Once ya become one’a hers, ya got family for life, no matta where ya go. Thanksgiving gets real messy, but it's kinda fun.”

“What’s the catch?” asked Jack, half-sarcastic.

“Catch?” asked Crutchie. 

“Ain’t no catch,” said Race. “I been here almost a year and I been through a lotta places. Far as I can tell, the worst part’a bein here is how much Medda cares.”

“Whaddaya mean?” asked Crutchie.

Race and Jack shared a look, and Jack understood exactly what he meant. When someone cares, it means they’re invested. Meaning, when you inevitably fuck up or do anything self-destructive, it hurts them too.

“Nothin,” said Race. “Fuggettaboutit.”

“How old are ya, Jack?” asked Crutchie. 

“Seventeen. You?”

“I’m fourteen. Race is sixteen. Just had his birthday last week.”

Jack looked at Race. “You guys actually celebrate birthdays here?”

“Oh, yeah. Medda goes all out. Makes a cake, sings the song, candles and everything. Even gets ya a gift. She got me new dance shoes,” said Race.

“You’re a dancer?” asked Jack.

“Only ‘cuzza Medda. I always wanted to but neva got ta have lessons. Now I have ‘em three times a week. And she took out the carpet in my room so’s I can practice.”

“What kinda lessons?” asked Jack.

“Ballet, tap, and jazz. Tap’s my favorite.”

Jack was surprised. Most foster families he had been through couldn’t afford extracurriculars at all, let alone multiple dance lessons. 

“Boys, come on, supper’s ready,” Medda called from down the hall.

"C'mon, let's go. Medda's a great cook. You'll love it here," said Crutchie.

Jack wasn't so sure, but he followed anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the feedback in the first chapter! I promise Davey's coming in the next one, I actually have it halfway done and it was gonna be part of this chapter but I thought a scene transition warranted a new chapter. As always, please leave feedback, what you like and what you don't and I'll do what I can with it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day of school. Assigned seats. Lunchtime. New friends. Davey and Katherine make an entrance. All of the cheesy high school AU things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: There are some super vague allusions to the possibility of Race having an eating disorder. Will be further explored in later chapters, so if that is a trigger for you, please be safe!! Be sure to read the tags and use your discretion.

A few days later, Medda dropped them off at school for the first time. “Let me know how it goes, and have a good day!” she called out before driving away. 

“Nervous?” Race asked, to both Jack and Crutchie. It was Crutchie’s first day of high school, and Jack’s first day of senior year in a new school. Race was starting his junior year, and had been going to this school for a year. 

“A little,” said Crutchie. “Just cuzza my crutch. Neva know how other kids are gonna take it, yanno?”

“I gotcha,” said Race. “Tell ya what, I’ll walk ya to yer first class, then both of youz come and find me at lunch. Sit with me n my pals til ya find yer own.”

“Thanks, Racer,” said Jack.

“Need help findin’ ya classes, Jack?” asked Race.

“Nah, I’ll be alright. Most schools look the same to me by now. I’ll catchya guys later,” he said, walking off. He liked Race and Crutchie, but he did not want them getting attached to him. Or, worse, him getting attached to them.

Jack made his way to his first class. English. Specifically, creative writing. Ugh.

He came in and sat in the back immediately, but then found a paper on his desk with someone else’s name. His heart sank; the teacher had already assigned seats. He stood up and looked around for his name, and much to his dismay, it was in the front row. With a sigh, he took his seat. A brown-haired boy in a royal blue polo came and picked up the paper in the seat next to him. Apparently seeing his name, he sat down next to Jack. He turned to him and smiled. 

“Hey, I’m David. David Jacobs. Are you new?” he asked.

“Yeah. Name’s Jack,” he grumbled. He didn’t mean to be rude, but he was not pleased about sitting in the front row and he did NOT want this perky kid to try and be his friend. He was happy. Too happy. Jack didn’t trust anyone, but he especially did not trust anyone with this much energy. The guy was like a walking ray of literal sunshine.

“It’s nice to meetcha, Jack! How do you feel about English class?”

“It’s fine, I guess. I dunno.” Jack pulled out one of the new notebooks Medda bought him for school and started doodling.

“It’s one of my favorites. I love writing, so I’m really looking forward to this class,” said David. He either was not taking Jack’s hint that he did not want to talk, or was ignoring it.

“You ain’t one’a those brainiac kids, are ya?” Jack asked, not hiding his disdain very well.

“I wouldn’t consider myself a brainiac,” said David. “I just care about school. I wanna get into a good college. What do you wanna do?”

Jack shrugged, not looking up from his doodle. “Guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get around to it, Davey.”

David paused. He never cared much for nicknames, but he didn’t want to deter Jack at all. He clearly did not make friends easily, but he somehow felt drawn to him, and was determined to be his friend. Before he could think of a good response, the teacher began class and their conversation was over.

________________________________________________

It was lunchtime. David sat down across one of his best friends, Katherine. “Did you meet that new kid?” asked Katherine.

“Jack? Yeah, he’s in my English class. Why?” he asked.

“I didn’t get his name. He’s in my study hall. He seems a little strange, I just wondered what you thought,” she said.

“I dunno, I thought he was nice. Kinda quiet. Good vibes, though,” he said.

“Who’s got good vibes?” asked Race as he sat down.

“The new guy, Jack something,” said Katherine.

“Oh, that’s my new foster brudda. I told him ta sit widdus today,” said Race. “I dunno where he’s at, though.”

“Where who’s at?” asked Crutchie as he sat down at the table with them. 

“Jack. Ya seen him anywhere?” asked Race.

“No, I ain’t seen him all day,” said Crutchie as he opened his lunchbox. He was glad Race invited him to sit with his friends. Even though he had been in middle school the year before, David and Katherine had come over a lot in the past year to hang out with Race, so they knew Crutchie pretty well. 

Race took a look at his own lunch, then zipped up his lunchbox and stood up. “Come ta think of it, he might not know where the cafeteria is. I’m gonna go look forrim,” he said.

It didn’t take him long to find Jack. He was in the library, alone, drawing in the dark. Race came and sat with him. “Don’tcha wanna come ta lunch?” asked Race.

Jack shrugged. “Didn’t know where ta find ya. ‘S a big cafeteria.”

Race nodded. “Well, here,” he said, handing Jack his lunch. “Ya gotta eat somethin’, at least.”

Jack looked up. “So d’you, Race,” he said. “‘Sides, Medda made me lunch, too,” he added, gesturing to his untouched lunchbox.

Race shrugged. “I’m not hungry, I guess. Thought you might be, what with it bein’ ya first day and all. Don’t tell Medda,” he said. “Well, I’ll leave ya alone if ya want, but we’d love ya to sit widdus. Plus, we ain’t supposed ta be in here alone.”

As if on cue, a teacher opened the door to the library. “Boys, you shouldn’t be in here. Go on back to the cafeteria,” he said sternly.

Race looked at Jack, who gave a sigh. “Guess I’ll come sit with ya, after all.” Together, they went back to the cafeteria.

Race introduced him to the table. “Everyone, this is Jack. Jack, this is Katherine, and that’s David. Though I think ya may have met already.”

“Yeah, we have English together! Good to see you again, Jack,” said Davey. “I didn’t know you knew Race!”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jack,” Katherine said sweetly.

“Yeah, you guys too,” Jack replied quietly. He really did not want to be rude, but he also really did not know how to do… friendships. 

“Well c’mon, siddown, why don’tcha?” said Race, gesturing to the seat next to David. Reluctantly, Jack did. 

“So, Jack, how’re you liking your first day?” asked Davey before continuing to eat his lunch.

Jack shrugged. “S’ just like any otha school I been ta, I guess. I dunno. You guys like it here?”

“It’s not too bad. There’s a really good theatre program,” said Katherine. “We did CATS last year. I was Demeter.”

“Yeah, it was a lotta fun! I was Rum Tum Tugger,” added Race with excitement.

“I played the flute for the pit orchestra. I’m not much one for the stage,” added David shyly. That surprised Jack. With such a radiant and extroverted personality, dazzling smile, and not to mention his melodious voice, Jack would have expected him to be going for the lead. “The after parties are fun though!” David continued.

“D’you guys think I could be in the shows?” Crutchie asked the group shyly.

“Well, sure, why tha heck not?” replied Race.

“It never hurts to audition,” Katherine added kindly. “And you can always do crew even if you aren’t onstage!”

“Or join the pit orchestra with me,” said David. “Do you play an instrument?”

“I can play piano, violin, ukulele, and clarinet,” said Crutchie.

“Crutchie, that’s awesome!” said Katherine. 

“So what I’m hearin’ is, ya ain’t got no excuse and ya gonna be involved with tha theatre widdus this year in some capacity,” said Race while smiling. 

“What about you, Jack? Do you think you’re gonna do something for the shows?” asked David.

“I dunno, Davey. I ain’t much one for participatin’ in stuff. I’m more of an outsidah, and that’s how everyone else likes it, too,” said Jack.

“Well, for the record, I think you’d have fun and I think you’d do good. Besides, there’s something for everyone in theatre. It’s an art form that is literally built upon community. Not to mention, it brings together every form of the arts. I mean, there’s acting, dancing, music, visual art, set design, lighting design… Where else can you find all that in one place?” said Katherine. 

Race smiled and looked up at Jack. “If ya couldn’t tell, she’s a theatre kid, through and through. Few years from now and I’m tellin’ ya, Broadway ain’t gonna know what hittem.”

“You should talk, Mr. Dance Pants. No dance lessons for fifteen years and suddenly you’re scoring main roles in dance-heavy shows? You’re a natural, Race!” said Katherine.

Jack gave a little smile. Even if he wasn’t a part of it, it was good to see people that were such good friends and genuinely cared for and supported one another so much. Especially for someone like Race, who was the only one who seemed to have the slightest understanding of what Jack had gone through. And Jack wasn’t stupid- he knew that that understanding had to have come with a price. A heavy one. And to see that it really could get better for someone after going through something like that was very refreshing.

Then, just as the moment began, it ended. The bell rang, dismissing them to their next classes. Everyone got up to throw their trash away. Race was last, and as he emptied his lunchbox into the trash, Jack noticed that he hadn’t touched any of his food at all. No one else seemed to notice, though, and he didn’t want to make a scene. He made a mental note to ask him about it later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking I might make this like 50/50 about Race and Jack, similar to the book I'll Give You The Sun if you've read it. (It's about siblings who share the narrative and trade narration between chapters. Obviously, since this is third person, it would just be a shift in focus.) Thoughts for or against? I'm only working 1 chapter ahead and I love feedback so if there's something you'd love to see please leave a comment!! Thanks for reading!! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While waiting for Crutchie at the end of the day, Race and Jack have a heart-to-heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments, they really motivate and inspire me to write more!! Hence why this is being published early :)  
> This is a shorter chapter but chapter 5 is rather lengthy so it balances out!  
> TW: there's some more allusions to Race's eating problems but nothing terribly explicit in this chapter. Be warned- it will get worse before it gets better. Please be careful and read the tags!!

At the end of the day, Race came and found Jack and they walked out of the school together to a nearby bench out of the flow of people-traffic. “Hey, so Medda dropped us off this mornin’ since it was the first day n’all, but usually we’re gonna hafta take the train,” said Race. “Same thing goin’ home. Ya seen Crutchie yet?”

“Nah, not yet. He’s got his classes on the otha’ side’a the buildin’ though, right, since he’s a freshman?”

“Yeah, plus he’s got the crutch ta deal with,” added Race, sitting down on the bench.

“Think we oughta go look for ‘im?” asked Jack.

Race shook his head as he pulled out a cigarette. “Nah, he knows this is where we meet. Leavin’ this spot would just get ‘im all confused once he does get here. We’ll just-” Race froze with the unlit cigarette in his lip. His eyes were locked onto something. Jack looked in the direction he was staring and saw a brunette boy with very defined muscles walking out of the same door they just came through. He didn’t notice Jack or Race as he was laughing with a big group of boys, all of them very muscular and rather attractive. Jack recognized him from his chemistry class, which he also shared with Race. He looked back at Race- he was completely mesmerized. “Racer?” asked Jack, amused. He waved his hand in front of his face, which seemed to snap him out of it.

“Sorry. What was I sayin’?” said Race. He pulled out a lighter and lit his cigarette. “Crutchie’ll find us here.”

“Who’s that guy you was makin’ googly eyes at?” asked Jack.

Race blushed as he took a drag of his cigarette. “That there is Spot Conlon. Captain of the baseball team. Member of the soccer team. Doesn’t have a clue I’s exist, obviously.”

“You ain’t neva talked to him?” asked Jack.

“He’s in our chem class, but we ain’t talked much. Last year, we had English Lit togedda. We was readin’ Shakespeare an’ he read for Romeo an’ I read for Juliet. He’s fuh-sure forgot about it by now, but that was it for me. He’s real funny though, and one’a the nicest jocks I ever meet. I just ain’t neva got the nerve to talk to ‘im forreals. Way outta my league. Pun intended.”

Jack gave a small smile. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think youz in the same league as him, fuh-sure.”

Race took a drag of his cigarette and gave a sad smile. “Thanks, Jackie.”

For a moment, there was a pause. Then Jack took a deep breath. “Listen, Racer… I gotta ask ya somethin’.”

Race looked up at him, his blue eyes sparkling beautifully in the sunlight. “Sure, what’sup, Jack?”

“Well, I was jus’ thinkin’ about earlier when youz tried to gimme ya lunch, and then told me not ta tell Medda. And then, when I didn’t take it, ya still threw it all away,” Jack said. 

Race stared at him, unreactive. “What’s ya point, Jack?”

“I dunno,” he replied. “It ain’t none’a my business, and I ain’t no narc. I jus’ wanted ta ask if ya doin’ alright.”

Race took another drag of his cigarette, then tapped the ashes off the edge of the bench. He looked up at Jack and gave a smile. “Don’ worry ‘bout me, Jack. I jus’ ain’t had a big appetite today. I asked ya not ta mention it ta Medda because I ain’t wanna hurt her feelins’. That’s all. I ‘preciate youz checkin’ in, but I’m alright.”

Jack looked at him for a second. Something told him he wasn’t telling the whole truth. But he also knew that if Race didn’t want to talk about it, he wasn’t going to talk about it. Not until he was ready. 

“Yeah, yeah I figured,” Jack said, laughing it off. “I jus’ thought I’d ask anyway.”

Race smiled as he took a final drag. “‘Sides, c’mon, I ain’t skinny enough ta have that kinda problem,” he joked before dropping the cigarette butt on the cement and squishing it below his foot. While he was picking it up off the ground, before Jack could say anything at all, they heard Crutchie’s voice.

“Sorry if I kept ya waitin’” said Crutchie, clearly out of breath. “We ready ta go?”

Race stood up and threw away his cigarette. “Yeah, we’re ready,” he said, picking up his backpack. “Let’s go get on that train.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there will be a slightly greater focus on Race than I originally planned because I adore him! Jack is still our protagonist but I think I wanna make their brotherly relationship a focal point. Please please leave a comment if you like this fic, or if you don't, or if you have any thoughts at all! They make my day and give me a better idea of what y'all would like to see :) Thanks for reading!!!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys and Medda have dinner together. Medda reminds each of them that she is there for them. They do not hear her. Jack and Race are not okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/spoiler: in this chapter, there is a self-harm scene with Jack that is kind of graphic, at least in the sense that you are reading his thoughts as it happens, while the actual action is not very detailed. There is also a scene where Race purges, and it's kind of the same dealio- you're reading as it happens, but the writing focuses more on what is happening inside his head than outside of it. Please, please be careful and read the tags!

That evening, they all sat down to dinner together. “How was the first day?” Medda asked the table.

Race shrugged. “Same old, same old. Nice to see David and Katherine again, though.”

“You oughta invite them over for dinner some night soon! It’s been too long,” said Medda.

“Yeah, fuh-sure,” said Race. “Maybe lata this week?”

“Absolutely. I’d love that,” said Medda. “What about you, Jack?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“How do you like the school?”

Jack took a bite of pasta. “Same as all th’others I been ta, I s’pose. S’fine.” He was mostly focused on watching Race, and trying not to seem like he was watching Race. Race was watching him watch him. “Race ‘n I got chemistry class togedda.”

“Oh, ain’t that somethin’!” said Medda. “It’ll be nice for you two to get to spend some time together in school.”

“We’s sit togedda at lunch, too,” said Race, taking a huge bite of food and making sure Jack saw. “So’s Crutchie.”

“Yeah, it’s fun,” said Crutchie. What he didn’t say, and what no one else did, was that he wouldn’t have anyone else to sit with if Race hadn’t invited him to his table. He’d only had one friend in his grade, who he had sat with at lunch every day since he had started going to school, and she moved away over the summer. As sweet and funny as Crutchie was, he had pretty severe social anxiety, which made making friends difficult. He just didn’t know how to initiate conversations, and with his crutch, people were slow to do it for him.

“He’s thinkin’a tryin’ out for theatre,” Race said proudly. “I think he’d be great at it.”

“I dunno, it was just a thought I had,” Crutchie said shyly. “Youz all just seem so close and so happy when ya get ta perform togedda. I dunno if they’d even let me in, though, on account’a my leg.”

“Well, you boys already know how I feel about the theatre,” said Medda. That was for sure. She was the owner of an off-Broadway theater. She was a very passionate advocate of the arts, and did all she could to make that abundantly clear. “Ain’t no better place to escape trouble. And there’s something for everyone.”

“That’s exactly what Katherine said,” said Race. “I dunno when auditions are, but ya betta believe I’ll letcha know when I do.”

“Jack, do you think you’d audition?” asked Medda.

Jack took a final bite from his plate. “Nah, prolly not,” he said as he stood up. “Thanks fer dinner, Medda. It was great.” He set his plate in the sink and went down the hall back to his room.

Medda looked a bit distraught. “Somethin’ I said?” she asked Race and Crutchie. 

Race shook his head. “Nah, he jus’ needs some space. He don’t wanna get involved wid anythin’ here or get too close to anyone.”

“How do you know that?” she asked him.

Race looked at her and gave a small, sad smile. “‘Cuz that’s how I was, when I got here this time last year.”

Crutchie took his dishes to the sink. He cleared his throat and gave Medda a kiss on the top of her head. “Thank you for dinner, Medda. I gotta go get some homework done.”

“Alright, hon. I’m just down the hall if you need me, got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said as he walked himself out of the kitchen.

For a minute, they continued eating in silence. Then, Medda said, “Race, can I ask ya somethin’?”

Race looked up from his mostly-finished plate, a bit nervous. “Sure, Medda. What’s up?”

“I was just curious, what made you… stop feeling that way? What made you feel like you belonged?”

He tried not to look too relieved. “Uh… I dunno, I’d hafta think about it.” He took a slow, painful bite, even though he already felt full. He was trying to finish his food so what happened with Jack would never happen again. “I guess when I got ta start takin’ dance classes. Ya know, doin’ what I cared about. Helped me find my place, and wanna find a place.” What he didn't tell her was that he really never stopped feeling that way, not fully, and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it.

“So you think if I could help Jack find what he cares about, he might feel more welcome here?”

Race gave a shrug. “Ain’t no two fellas gonna work exactly the same way, but it sure seems worth a shot, don’t it?”

“I suppose it does,” said Medda. “I know he likes art… Maybe I could do somethin’ with that. Find him a club, or somethin’. They got any kinda art club at school?” 

“Not sure. I’m sure there’s gotta be somethin, though. If anyone’ll figure it out, s’you. Ya gotta gift for helpin’ people.”

She gave him a look, then smiled as she ruffled his hair. “When did you get so smart?”

“I gotta good teacha,” he said, playfully pushing her off. 

“You got that right. You finished?” she asked, gesturing to his mostly-empty plate.

“Yes I am, thank you, Medda,” he said, handing it to her. “I’m gonna go practice for dance class tomorra, alright?”

“Alright sweetie. You let me know if you need anything.”

“You got it,” he said, trying not to seem like he was rushing off. But he was. He did need to practice, that was true. But after he stood up, he was overwhelmed by how incredibly bloated and weighed down he felt from how much he had eaten. He started to panic, feeling suffocated by his own body. It was too much. It was too much. And he had to get rid of it.

____________________________________________________________

Jack did not feel good. Having people to sit with at lunch was nice, but also overwhelming. It had never happened before. Not like that. Up until now, he only ever sat with people at lunch when he was going to a school where sitting alone was against the rules and a group of do-gooders felt enough pity for him to let him sit with them. Now that he had had some time to himself, he couldn’t stop thinking about how weird he acted today. They must have pitied him, too. But he didn’t care what people thought. Except... that he did. He knew he could never make friends, but here were the kind of people he had been wishing to know for his entire life. And he didn’t know how, but he knew it was a trap. It had to be. 

He was worried about Race. But what Race did or didn’t do was none of Jack’s business. He didn’t want him to cross a line he couldn’t come back from, but he also worried that he had crossed a line by asking him about it. He knew how much he hated it when people asked about his scars. At the same time, he worried that he didn’t do enough. How could one person be simultaneously too much and not enough? God, all he did was fuck up.

He needed to get out of his head. He grabbed his art supply bag and fumbled through it, looking for his special pencil sharpener which he knew was there. He pulled out the loose blade and held it in his hand. It had been awhile. But not terribly long. He hadn’t done it once since being here. This would be the first time. It was like seeing an old friend. He felt so many things at once; disappointment and disgust with himself for still doing this, relief at having something he had control over and knowing some things never change, sadness about letting Medda down, loneliness and despair because all he could do was let people down and it didn’t even matter because he’d be out of here soon enough. It was too much. It was all too much. The walls were closing in and he couldn’t breathe, there was no oxygen because the world around him was shrinking, squeezing the life out of him. He closed his eyes and did the only familiar thing. And then, he felt nothing at all. Just a sharp, comforting sting. He breathed a sigh of relief and kept going until the world came back into focus and his arm was covered in blood.

__________________________________________________________

Race sat hunched over the toilet bowl trying to catch his breath, the shower running to cover up the sound. His heart was pounding. Tears had forced their way out of his eyes. He cleared his throat, then slowly stood up on shaking legs, holding onto the counter for support. He closed the toilet lid and flushed. After taking a deep breath, he looked up into the mirror. His cheeks were red. His eyes were bloodshot. He didn’t look at the rest of his body- he couldn’t, not right now. He quickly brushed his teeth and shut the shower off. He splashed his face with cold water to bring the puffiness down. 

He didn’t ever do this. He really didn’t. Only when his anxiety got the better of him. Usually, he just skipped meals here and there, and that was enough. But he didn’t like when people asked him about what he was eating. Or what he wasn’t. And he couldn’t risk Jack finding out. No one had, and he had to keep it that way. If anyone found out, he could lose dance. So he ate dinner. But it was too much. Too, too much. He had it under control and it wasn’t a big deal, but today was too much. It wouldn’t happen again. He promised himself it wouldn’t happen again, and did his best not to remember how he made that same promise to himself more often than he’d like to admit.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to focus on the positives. No one else suspected, and he’d be sure to keep Jack off his trail from now on. Besides, he wasn’t even underweight. Especially not for a dancer. There were people at his studio that he swore were just walking skeletons. He always watched them in awe and admiration, wondering how they didn’t shatter every time they landed a jump. He didn’t necessarily want to look quite like that, but he did notice that they tended to be more successful in the field. 

Plus, there was Spot to think about. He knew it was naive, but he just couldn’t shake the thought that if he just had a nicer body, he would notice him. 

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. None of that mattered. He just needed to go practice. Everything always felt better when he was dancing. He washed his hands again, cupped some water in his hands and drank it, then looked in the mirror one last time. He looked normal, like nothing had happened at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the support, I was not expecting even half this much success so I'm glad y'all like it! Be sure to leave a comment if you feel so inclined, they really make my day and push me to get more content out for you guys to enjoy :) Sorry for the sad boi hours chapter, Davey is in the next one and it's less sad if that gives you something to look forward to!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davey and Jack have a disagreement in gym class. Jack needs some space, and Race comes in clutch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh thank you guys so much for all the support, I was not expecting anyone to read this at all and I'm so so happy y'all like it!!   
> No TW's apply for this chapter, just a sprinkle of angst for all the boys. As a treat.

“Where’s your gym clothes, Kelly?” the gym teacher asked. It was Tuesday, third period. P.E. day. The students were lined up in alphabetical order on the line on the basketball court. And, of course, David was in his gym class, and Jacobs and Kelly were only so far from one another in the alphabet. Which meant David was next to Jack. Again.

“Forgot ‘em,” he said, shrugging. Fat chance he was going to take his hoodie off in front of anyone, now or ever. But especially not for fucking gym class of all things. 

“We got extra ones, y’know,” the teacher replied. 

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

“You don’t change, you don’t participate. You don’t participate, you get a zero for the day. That happens three times and you got detention. You sure this is how you want to play this out?”

“Ooh, I’m quakin’. Ya see me? Terrified. It’s the end of the world if I wear jeans in a gym. But I guess it’s a risk I’m just gonna hafta take,” said Jack, rolling his eyes.

The teacher looked at him, then scribbled something down on his clipboard before continuing down the line. 

“Why wouldn’t you change?” whispered David, who had never taken a zero in his life and could not fathom someone choosing to, especially for something which seemed so silly to him. 

Jack gave him a laugh. “What can I say, Davey? I’m a rebel widda cause. Fuck the system, an’ all that.”

David shook his head. He could never. He didn’t like gym, either, but half the grade was just showing up and the other half was doing what you were supposed to. They stood in silence for a second, before he replied. “I could bring you gym clothes, if you needed.”

Jack looked at him. “Why would I need that?”

David shifted uncomfortably and looked at the ground. “It’s just, if you don’t have gym clothes, or don’t wanna carry ‘em around, or whatever reason. I could bring you some. I don’t mind.” He didn’t mean to be rude, but Jack clearly needed to go clothes shopping. David knew Medda was fairly well-off, so he didn’t really understand why Jack dressed the way he did. But he wore the same old hoodie every day, and it was in bad shape.

“Thanks, Davey, I ‘preciate it. But I don’t need that. I jus’ ain’t gonna change into some stupid clothes for some stupid class when no matta what happens, I’m outta here in a few months.”

“You don’t think you’ll finish the school year?” asked David. 

“Nah, prolly not. It ain’t my thing.”

“What about Race? And Crutchie, and Medda?”

Jack sighed, a bit aggravated at the way this conversation was going. “They’s fine, I jus’ ain’t wanna start pretendin’ this is permanent or nothin’. ‘Sides, I ain’t smart enough to graduate, so why waste my time here any more than I hafta? Nah, the minute I turn eighteen, I’m hittin’ the road.”

“I think you’re plenty smart,” he said softly. “And I wish you’d give yourself more of a chance.”

“Yeah? Well, I wish you'd mind ya business and not worry ‘bout problems that ain’t yours to worry ‘bout. ‘Specially when ya don’t even know the first thing ‘bout me. Who the hell d’you think you are?” Jack snapped. He liked David just fine, but he was clearly crossing a line here. 

David looked at the ground. “I just think… things could be better for you. If you only tried a little bit. But it’s like you don’t want them to be, so you can prove some bullshit point to yourself about how the world is so awful, or whatever.”

Jack was absolutely flabbergasted. Here was this kid who didn’t know him at all, calling him out in ways that no one else had ever dared to before. No one had ever cared enough to. And he was angry, because he knew he was right, but it was none of his business! And it started from some stupid argument about gym clothes, of all things. 

Jack scoffed. “Whateva. I’m outta here,” he muttered as he walked right out of the gym, consequences be damned. He was no stranger to trouble, and could not stand to be next to Davey for one more goddamn second. 

_______________________________________________________

Fourth period was chemistry, which Jack and Race shared, along with Spot Conlon and Katherine. Today, the teacher was assigning lab partners for the semester. She read down from a list that she had already made, then the students went to sit with their new partners. Jack wasn’t in class, but he ended up being partnered with Spot. Race maintained a neutral face, acting as though he didn’t care at all, but of course he cared. He also wondered where Jack was. Then he got a text asking him to meet in the boy’s bathroom by the gym. 

Race stood up immediately. “Umm… Miss, I hafta use the restroom,” he said.

She rolled her eyes, annoyed at his verbal disruption of the lecture. “Take the pass,” she said, gesturing to the pass hanging from a lanyard by the door before she continued.

Race gave a little awkward bow before grabbing the pass hanging on the door and went to find Jack in the bathroom.

“What’s up, Jackie?” he asked.

“Can I bum a smoke?” 

Race was surprised. Jack didn’t seem the type. But he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his backpack and handed him one. What were brothers for? “Here,” he said, tossing him his lighter. “Did somethin’ happen?”

Jack ignored him at first, focused on lighting the cigarette in his mouth. He took a very long drag, then exhaled slowly, his eyes closed as he leaned up against the wall. “Jus’ nosey people askin’ stupid questions.”

“Like who? Like what?” asked Race, trying to ignore the irony in his response.

Jack opened one eye and gave him a look, indicating that the irony was not lost on him either. Then, after a pause, he closed his eye again and sighed. “Dat friend o’yours, Davey? He jus’ don’t have a clue when it’s time ta drop somethin’. Ain’t no respect fuh boundaries, dat kid.” He took another drag of the cigarette, then coughed a little. He wasn't much of a smoker.

Race understood. While David was a good friend, he really could be overbearing. Which was part of why Race was now so good at putting up a front- he had to be a fast learner, once David decided he was going to be his friend. “I’s sorry, Jack. Ya know he means well. S’just he ain’t neva had ta sleep nowhere but a real house wid two whole folks tuckin’ him in at night. Sometimes he jus’ don’t understand what we been through, cuz he ain’t neva had nothin’ ya can’t ask questions ‘bout.”

Jack nodded. It made sense. But he still just… pushed his buttons, somehow. 

“If ya don’t mind my askin’... and ‘course ya can say no, too, but… what was it exactly that gottim so curious?”

“Oh, just stuff ‘bout my work ethic, my potential, how I oughta stay here an’ keep doin’ this school bullshit even afta I turn eighteen. Dat sorta stuff, completely outta nowhere,” said Jack. “Totally outta line, too,” he added, taking another drag of the cigarette.

Hearing this made Race’s heart sink a bit. “Ya don’t… ya don’t think ya gonna stick around, then, huh?” He couldn’t say he was surprised, but he was sad. He really bonded with Jack, and didn’t understand why Jack would choose to leave when there was a door open for him to a place where he was welcomed as family.

Jack looked up at him and saw the slightest change in Race’s expression. It was exactly like yesterday, when they were talking at the bench- something just beneath the surface had shifted. Like suddenly his neutral face was a lie he had to maintain. “It ain’t nothin’ personal, Race. I’s just… not a family guy.”

“I hear ya, Jack.” Race looked at the ground, his expression completely blank. “I gotta get back ta class.” He began to make his way out of the bathroom.

“Racer,” Jack said behind him. He turned and looked at him, wondering what he could have to say. Jack tossed him his lighter. “Thanks for da smoke.”

Race gave a small smile and a half-shrug as he pocketed the lighter, not looking at Jack. “What else is bruddas for?” He turned and walked most of the way out of the bathroom, before stopping in his tracks at the door for just a moment. Without turning around, he said, “Family is for everyone. Ain’t no one too good for it, and ain’t no one don’t deserve it. Like it or not, ya already got one, and it’s up ta youz what ya gonna do widdit.” And with that, he continued walking out the door.

Jack paused for a second, then took another drag of the cigarette that Race had given him. This was exactly the kind of bullshit that made him not want a family. He hated feeling responsible for anyone else. It was always hard on him, especially in houses with kids younger than him. He always ended up being some kind of big-brotherly figure to them, and then he worried about them like crazy when they were inevitably separated. And he always ended up alone. Every time. He was tired of it.

And then, he wasn’t alone. He heard footsteps down the hall, and tried to put out his cigarette as quick as he could. As he was tapping it on the sink trying to extinguish it, the guidance counselor, Snyder, walked in. Jack froze as they made eye contact. His eyes went from Jack, to the cigarette in his hand, and back up to Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Snyder the guidance counselor, because guidance counselors are the Worst. I know this chapter might have been kinda slow but I wanted to ease back a bit after chapter 5. I also made an outline last night for where I'd like to take the story so I'm building to that now. So, it'll pick up soon!! Thank you for reading :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medda has to come to the school to meet with Jack and Snyder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have 4 papers due in 3 days varying in length from 6-15 pages, none of which i have started (yikes!!!) so obviously this fic is my number one priority. With that in mind, please enjoy!  
> I also might not be as good about putting specific TW's in the notes from here on unless it's very graphic (such as ch. 5) because if you're reading this far, you already know that Race has an ED and Jack self-harms and both will be mentioned from time to time. So be careful and safe and do what is best for you!!

While Medda was not thrilled to get the call from the high school, she was also not surprised. She had fostered her share of children from a variety of backgrounds and was not unfamiliar with misbehavior.

She sat down in the chair next to Jack and across from Snyder. Jack had his eyes glued to a spot on the carpet. 

“Nice to see you again, Miss Larkin,” said Snyder.

“Wish I could say the same, Mr. Snyder,” she responded politely.

Snyder sniffed, not amused, and pulled out a file from his desk drawer. “Mr. Kelly. Would you like to explain to Miss Larkin why we had to interrupt her day and she had to come all the way here to talk with us?”

Jack stared at the ground.

Snyder rolled his eyes. “Apparently not.” He turned to look at Medda. “I caught him, red-handed, skipping class and smoking a cigarette in the boy’s bathroom.”

Medda nodded slowly. “Okay, so what does that mean for us exactly?”

Snyder looked at Jack. “Well, lucky for him he didn’t have anything else on him. There’s a fine you’re gonna have to pay, community service hours, and he’s got three days suspension, starting today.”

“The fine isn’t a problem, just send me the bill. What kind of community service are we looking at?”

Snyder flipped through a stack of papers on his desk and pulled out a sheet, then handed it to Jack. “Here’s a list of all the opportunities available through the school.” He pulled a packet from the same pile of papers and handed it to Medda. “If you’d be so kind as to sign these.”

Jack skimmed through the list as Medda signed the forms. Absolutely nothing on here appealed to him. And then he saw it. He almost wanted to laugh. 

_Set construction for local theatre program_

“Anything catching your eye, Kelly?” 

“What exactly does set construction entail?” he asked.

Snyder took the list back from him and scribbled something down, then stamped it. “Guess you’ll find out. The drama teacher will be in touch. Get outta my office. And don’t find yourself back in here again.”

___________________________________________________

The car ride back home was quiet. The worst part was that Jack knew Medda wasn’t angry. She didn’t even seem disappointed. It was like she expected this to happen.

When they finally got home, Medda shut off the car but remained in her seat. There was another minute of silence before she spoke. “Jack, what is it that you need from me here?”

He looked up at her. She was looking at him with so much kindness in her eyes. She saw real potential in him. And if he didn’t meet that potential, he knew she would just blame herself for not providing him with what he needed to do so. She was willing to do anything to help him. And he didn’t even want it.

Medda continued, “I understand that sometimes things just happen. People make mistakes. And I’m not gonna punish you for something you’re already being punished for. I don’t think that would do anything but make you lose trust in me. But I want to set a plan in place so this kind of thing doesn’t happen again. What would you suggest?”

No one had ever tried to communicate with him before, not like this. In the past, whenever he’d get caught doing dumb stuff, he would either get grounded or get completely ignored. He played with his fingers, uncomfortable with the genuine attention. “I dunno, Medda. I did tell ya I’m a problem kid. I dunno how not ta be.”

“Well then, I think step one of our plan should be that you don’t refer to yourself like that anymore. If you pick a label and stick to it, that’s all you’ll ever be. But if you have a growth mindset and you don’t resign yourself to being a ‘problem kid’, you won’t have to be anymore.”

“Okay,” Jack said, trying to appease her any way he could to make the conversation come to an end. He had never actually heard a term like “growth mindset” in a real-life conversation before. And he couldn’t say he was a fan of it.

Medda took a pause. “Would you consider going to therapy?”

Absolutely not. Talking to someone about what was going on in his head was out of the question. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it. “I’d really ratha not,” said Jack cautiously.

She looked at him for a second. “I’ll be upfront with you, Jack, I really would like you to go because I think it would be very helpful. But you are nearly an adult, so I will make you a deal. If you can cut back on the self-derogatory comments, and if you can stay out of trouble, you don’t have to go to therapy. But if this happens again, you are going to have to go. Non-negotiable. Is that fair?”

“I guess.” 

The stakes had never been higher for Jack. Suspension, detention, expulsion- he could handle all that. Even volunteer hours were bearable. He didn’t care what it took- he was NOT going to therapy.

_________________________________________________

At lunch, Davey sat down across from Race. “Have you seen Jack?”

Race looked up from the sandwich he was trying very hard to choke down. He had no appetite, but he also had no desire to call any more attention to his eating habits. Especially since he knew he always got worse when he was upset, and today was no exception. “Yeah, I jus’ seen him last period. Why d’ya ask?”

Davey sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I think I offended him. I didn’t mean to, I just… never seem to know when to stop talking, I guess. I thought he might be avoiding me, and wondered if he told you anything.”

“Well, Davey, even if he did, I couldn’t tell ya. Das just bro code right there.” Jack might not consider him family, but that road did not go two ways. He had told him about Davey in confidence, and Race considered that sacred.

“I just wanna apologize. But I’m worried he won’t give me a chance.” Davey really didn’t want to screw up his friendship with Jack. He felt drawn to him somehow, and he had a strong feeling that Jack needed him, even if he refused to show or admit it.

“I dunno what ta tell ya, Davey. I’m sure youz can talk ta him wheneva he gets here,” Race said as he pulled out his phone. “Uh… hold dat thought.”

“What? What is it?” Davey asked eagerly.

“Guys, did you hear?” Katherine exclaimed as she came in and quickly sat down. “About Jack?”

“He jus’ texted me,” said Race.

“What?! What is it? What happened?” demanded Davey, the only one out of the loop.

“Jack got suspended for a week for getting high in the bathroom,” Katherine said in a conspiratorial tone. “Snyder caught him redhanded. Might even have jailtime.”

Race looked up at her. “Dat ain’t true at all. Who da hell toldja that?”

Katherine shrugged. “No one’s seen him since third period when he walked out of his gym class. Everyone’s talking about it, I’m just reporting the news.”

“Yeah, well, as our gross stale cheeto of a President loves ta say, das what they call ‘fake news’, sweetheart. I knows exactly what happened, and I’d ‘preciate if ya didn’t say shit ‘bout my brudda when ya don’t got a clue what ya talkin’ about.”

Katherine looked at Race, surprised. He never snapped at her like that. “Okay, I’m sorry, Race. I was just telling you what I heard.”

“So what did happen, Race?” Davey asked.

Race exhaled slowly. “He texted me in chem class an’ asked me ta meet. ‘Das why I walked out like I did, Katherine. He jus’ wanted ta bum a smoke. I musta jus’ missed Snyder.” He looked at his phone to read what Jack said. “He’s suspended for three days. For smokin’ tobacco on school property. Not dat it’s anyone’s business. But next time ya hear people talkin’ ‘bout shit they don’t know ‘bout, just lettem know they can ansa ta me.” And with that, Race packed everything back into his lunchbox, zipped it, and stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

“Where ya goin’?” Crutchie asked as he came up to the table.

“I need some air,” Race muttered as he walked off. He couldn’t help feeling like it was his fault Jack was in the mess he was in. He was the one who gave him the cigarette, and left him there. Race may be the younger of the two, but he had been around longest, and was holding it together the best. It was his job to look out for his family, and he let Jack down today. And now everyone at his new school was gonna be talking shit about him. And there was nothing Race could do about it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I don't have anyone close to me who ever actually got with drugs at school so I got my info for that from here: https://www.cga.ct.gov/2005/rpt/2005-r-0269.htm  
> Just in case anyone was curious or if the punishment seemed inaccurate! I certainly did my best to be realistic but keep the story moving. But if we're being totally honest... it's not that deep.  
> Next chapter is very Race-centric! It's kinda sad but also kinda cute, he's just a big ol' dork and I'm really excited for y'all to read it. I haven't written the one after it yet but know that I have heard your feedback and plan to make it more Jack-centric.  
> Thank you for reading! As always, leave a comment if you feel so inclined, saying what you like or what you don't (you can rip me to shreds if u want, it'd be so funny) or if u have a suggestion you'd love to see happen and think would work well.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race and Spot have an encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: ED stuff  
> For some reason, this was one of my favorite chapters to write so I hope y'all enjoy it as much as I did!!

“You alright in there?” someone called out from outside the bathroom stall Race was in.

_Shit,_ he thought. He had been alone when he came in. He wondered how long they had been in here, and prayed it hadn’t been long enough to hear him trying to make himself puke.

He still didn’t think he had a real problem. He only did this when he was really upset. Or when he ate too much. It just so happened that, this time, those two things happened on back-to-back days. Honestly, Race wasn’t even sure this time counted as purging. Learning about Jack getting suspended because of him, and hearing his intentions to leave the family the first chance he got, well, it _did_ make him feel sick. Sticking his fingers down his throat just helped him get the job done faster. 

He swallowed, trying to clear the burning sensation from his throat. “Yeah, yeah I’m good, thanks,” he called out. He flushed the toilet and stood up, pressing his freezing cold hands to his cheeks to cool them down and help make them less red. Race hoped he didn’t look as bad as he usually did after doing this. He opened up the stall door, and saw the last person in the world he wanted to see at this particular moment in time.

“Whoa, man. Ya sure you’re alright? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you ain’t lookin’ so hot,” said Spot, looking concerned. “School lunch hit ya the wrong way? Ya need me ta get da nurse?”

Race stood still for a second, completely shocked at how shitty his luck was. Then he snapped out of it and quickly shook his head, averting his eyes from the boy in front of him to stare at the ground. “Yeah, I’m- no for sure, I just- there was a, um… I just, well I uh- I don’t need, um.” He wanted to kick himself. It was like Spot put some kind of idiot filter on him so whenever he was within 50 feet of him, his coherent thoughts and intended words were incapable of coming out the way they were supposed to. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, begging his brain to give him something to work with. 

Spot raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, I’m real convinced now. Here, take this,” he said, handing Race a bottle of water. “I always bring an extra, and ya seem like ya need it.”

Race tried to form words again, to tell Spot he didn’t need it, that he literally had his own perfectly good water bottle in his backpack. But before he got the chance, Spot cut him off.

“Look, you’re clearly not feelin’ alright right now, an’ for some reason ya ain’t takin’ the free pass ta go home that naturally comes wid throwin’ up in school. But that shit dehydrates the hell outta you, so will ya just please at least take the damn water bottle and try to take care a’yourself?”

Wordlessly, Race reached out to accept the gift. His cold, shaking hand brushed against Spot’s as he took the water bottle from him. Luckily, his brain was functioning just enough to tell him to use the hand that had not just been down his throat. Race took a sip of water. “Thanks,” he managed to choke out.

Spot kept looking at him, clearly still concerned. He was a good guy, and he was right- it was an unspoken but well-known rule that if you tell the nurse you threw up, she would let you go home. The fact that Race wasn’t taking advantage of what many would consider a golden opportunity was, to say the least, odd.

Race took a sudden interest in the water bottle, fixating his eyes upon it and trying not to think about Spot, Spot and him, alone together, Spot giving him a gift, Spot touching his hand, Spot trying to take care of him... and well, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. But it didn’t help that Spot wouldn’t stop staring at him, his gorgeous brown eyes completely focused on Race. Just like he had dreamed of for what felt like eternity, and happening at the _worst_ possible time. 

“Ya gonna be alright?” Spot asked, more gently this time. “Sure ya don’ want me ta get da nurse? Or I could walk ya there?”

Race shook his head. As desperately as he wanted to spend time with Spot Conlon and take him up on his offer to go on a walk with him, even just down the hall, he didn’t want it like this. He didn’t want to be lost in his thoughts, wracked with guilt about Jack getting suspended because of him while he got off scot-free, his whole body still shaking from purging, his cheeks most definitely puffed up. God, he didn’t even want to know what he looked like right now. He prayed that, if it was bad, it would be at least bad enough that Spot wouldn’t recognize him later on.

“Alrighty… well… uh, I hope ya feel betta soon,” Spot said awkwardly. “Here, lemme give ya my numba in case ya need anythin’.” He took a sharpie from out of his pocket.

“Wha… what would I need from you?” asked Race, and immediately regretted it. Spot Conlon was here, in front of him, talking to him, trying to give him his cellphone number which Race could use to talk to him anytime he wanted, and he was questioning it? He closed his eyes and wished he could unsay everything he had said the entire time Spot was here. He wished for this whole day to just undo itself and let him start over. This time, he’d just save himself the trouble and stay home.

Spot didn’t seem troubled at all, though. He uncapped the sharpie and grabbed Race’s forearm, then scribbled something down as he talked. “I dunno. But youz throwin’ up alone in a high school bathroom, which ain’t a fun place ta be. And ya seem awful upset ‘bout somethin’. An’ I ain’t askin, cuz it ain’t my business. But I jus’ know, if it was me, I’d wanna know I wasn’t alone. Das all.” He then drew a smiley face on Race’s arm next to his number. “Jus’ look at dis guy and rememba you ain’t neva alone, and ya got lotsa stuff ta smile ‘bout. But he’s here to do it for ya til ya can.” He capped the sharpie and put it back in his pocket, said, “See ya round, Race,” then began walking out of the bathroom.

“Wait!” said Race. Spot turned around, surprised. “Don’t ya need ta… I dunno, use da bathroom?” Race wanted to die. He wanted to actually sew his lips shut and never speak again. Yes, it was odd that it seemed that Spot just materialized in the bathroom in his hour of despair and didn’t seem to have a reason to be in here. That didn’t mean he needed to _ask_ him about it. 

Spot gave him a strange look, then chuckled. “Nah, I jus’ forgot my hat in here earlier. Lucky for you, I guess.” He waved the hat in his hand before throwing up a peace sign with his other hand, then left.

Race stood still for a moment, trying to process everything that had just happened. In some ways, it felt like a dream. In others, it seemed like a nightmare. Either way, if it wasn’t for the sharpie scribbles all over his arm, he wouldn’t have believed it was real.

He walked over to the sinks to assess the damage in the mirror. Upon what he saw, he nearly threw up again.

Oh. God.

His hair was a mess. His cheeks were bright red. His eyes looked wild. But that wasn’t even the worst part. He turned on the sink, quickly cupped some water in his hands, and began wiping the sides of his mouth, cursing himself for not doing so when he was in the stall. He had just been caught off-guard, but still, that was no excuse. Stupid. So, so stupid. Spot Conlon was in here, talking to him, and he had puke on his face. It wasn’t a lot. Maybe he hadn’t noticed.

Or maybe that was why he wouldn’t stop staring at him.

Fuck.

Race was gross. He was just gross. He splashed his face with cold water, trying to wash all the gross off. But when he stood back up and looked in the mirror again, it was still him. Why couldn’t he just get all the gross off of him? He washed his hands next, scrubbing them clean, trying to focus on something he could control, instead of the growing lump in his throat. He started tearing up when he couldn’t, his mind gravitating instead toward his multitude of disgusting imperfections. He stared into the mirror, unable to help himself from fixating on them. His legs which just weren’t the right shape, his face a constellation of flaws, his nose too big, his eyes too small, his cheeks too red, his stomach. God, his stomach. He was choking back a sob when he caught a glimpse of his arm and saw that Spot’s number was still there. He stared at the scribbles, trying to take in that they were really there, Spot had really been here, and he really gave him his number. And that stupid smiley face, grinning up at him, like it knew all of his thoughts and wanted to tell him it was all gonna be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If ya couldn't tell, I adore Race. I have mostly finished the next chapter and it does feature Jack more. Thank you for reading!!!! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race comes home from school and has a heart-to-heart with Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so so sweet, reading your comments always makes my day and makes me wanna write more. I definitely never expected even half this much support, so thank you guys so much!!! I love y'all!!!   
> This chapter is just brotherly fluff and bonding, with some angst sprinkled in.

When Race and Crutchie got home from school, Race knocked on Jack’s bedroom door. “Jack?” he called out. He wanted to check in and see how he was doing, and also apologize. He knew it wasn’t technically his fault, because Jack did ask for the cigarette, but Race chose to give it to him. That made him at least partially responsible for the mess he was in now. If Jack had wanted to leave before, Race was sure that today’s events had only amplified that feeling, and it was all his fault.

Race heard a grunt from behind the door and took that as an invitation to come in. Upon entering, he realized that he had just woken him up. “Oh, geez, sorry Jack. I didn’t realize youz was takin’ a nap.” 

Jack rolled over and looked at Race, disoriented. “S’all good, Race. What’sup? Ya hear I’mma teenage delinquent?” he said, chuckling sleepily.

“I’m sorry, Jack. None-a dis is even your fault, s’all on me. Ya took the fall for me, and I’m sorry I gotcha inta dis mess.”

Jack yawned as he sat up, stretching his arms. Race noticed he wasn’t wearing his hoodie, for once. It was a hot day, and he had taken it off prior to falling asleep. He had very defined muscles, and Race felt a twinge of jealousy looking at them. If he looked like Jack, he would never feel like he had to hide the way he did. “Whatta you talkin’ bout?” asked Jack. “I didn’t take the fall for no one but me. I’z the one did it, and I’z the one stupid enough ta get caught. Whatta you sorry for?”

Race shrugged helplessly. “I dunno, I jus’… I dunno! I shouldn’ta give it to ya, I guess.” Logically, he knew Jack was right. Race didn’t really do anything wrong at all. But he would be damned if his brain wasn’t going to find a way to make it his fault.

Jack looked at him for a second, then gestured to his wheely chair. “C’mon, Race. Step inta my office.”

Race cautiously dropped his backpack on the ground and plopped into the chair. 

Jack sighed and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, then looked back up at Race. “What’s goin on?”

“I dunno what ya mean,” Race said, playing with the hair tie he kept around his wrist, specifically for moments like these. He didn’t have long hair, but it helped with his anxiety to have something to fidget with.

“I means, why are ya tryna take the blame for what I did? What is it you think ya did wrong?”

Race paused for a second, fixating on the hair tie he was twirling between his fingers. “I guess it’s just… I don’t… wantcha ta leave. An’ gettin’ in trouble is jus’ gonna make ya wanna leave more. An’ if I had just toldja no, ya wouldn’ta… I dunno.” Race knew he was being silly, because Jack had skipped two classes in a row when he got caught. Even if he hadn’t been smoking, he probably would have gotten in a good amount of trouble for skipping, anyway. He also felt weird, though, because he always had a pack of cigarettes on him. He didn’t make a habit of smoking on school property, but it had definitely happened a few times. He was just lucky enough to never get caught. It didn’t seem fair that Jack got suspended for having one, one time. 

“Hey,” Jack said, bringing him back out of his head. “What else is bruddas for, if not gettin’ ya inta trouble?”

Race gave a tiny smile, but didn’t meet Jack’s eyes. He knew Jack was just trying to cheer him up, which wasn’t going to work because he knew he didn’t consider him family, not really. Hearing him trying to pretend just to make him feel better for a moment only reminded him again that he was only here for a couple more months, and then he would never talk to Race again. He’d lose him forever. He couldn’t bear to hear Jack call him family knowing that the term had an expiration date.

Race cleared his throat, eager to change the subject. “Ah, jus’ so’s ya know, Davey was lookin’ for ya.”

“Yeah? What’d he want, a copy of da file Snyder’s got on me?”

“He jus’ wanted ta ‘pologize, Jack. He didn’t mean no harm. It’s like I told ya, he jus’ don’t understand things da way we do. But he felt real bad, an’ he wanted you ta know.”

“You didn’t tell ‘im what I said, didja?”

“I ain’t no narc. An’ it ain’t my business. But he’s a good guy, an’ I think youz could make good friends.”

Jack nodded. “Okay, I’ll take dat inta consideration. Thanks, Race.” They sat in silence for a minute, then Jack asked, “I miss anythin’ else today?”

Race blushed. “Uh, we got our lab pardnas assigned in chem. Ya got Spot Conlon,” he said, trying to keep his voice even.

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Ain’t dat the guy you-”

“Yeah,” Race cut him off. “Das him.”

Jack nodded, then smirked. “I could be ya wingman.”

“Oh, no,” Race said, shaking his head. His cheeks turned so red when he blushed. It was completely unmistakable, and completely adorable. 

“Aw, c’mon, Racer!” Jack teased him, poking him in the shoulder. “I’m really good, too. I could tell ‘im how cool you are, how smart, how good of a dancer, how he should come watchya dance. Oh, I’ll tellim you could teach ‘im dance lessons for free!”

Race groaned and put his head in his hands. “I’m gonna ask ya kindly ta please NOT do any’a dat. Or even mention me at all to ‘im. Betta yet, don’t even lettim know ya know me. Afta taday, I-”

“Whoa, whoa. What happened taday?” Jack asked, intrigued. 

Race sighed and ran his hand through his hair, blushing harder than ever. As he did, Jack caught a glimpse of the black scribbles on his forearm. “We, uh… had an… encounter.”

“Gee, das specific. What’s that on ya arm, there?” 

Race grinned shyly and held out the arm that Spot had written on for Jack to read. “See for yisself.” 

Jack reached out to hold Race’s shaking arm still so he could read it. He smirked as he did, then looked up. “Alright, way ta go, Racer!” He held up his hand for a high-five, but Race wasn’t smiling anymore. His eyes were locked onto something else. Jack followed his gaze and when he realized what Race was looking at, his blood ran cold.

“Jack, what happened to ya arm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all liked this chapter! Lmk what you thought in the comments :) Thank you for reading!! <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race and Jack have a heart-to-heart. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took me a bit, finals are the Worst and once I finished all my essays I forgot how to write for a minute. Hope you enjoy this and thank you for waiting!!  
> TW: this chapter gets pretty graphic and detailed in reference to Jack's self-harm and it's really the main focus of the chapter. If this is in any way a trigger for you but you'd like to still read the story, I've put a synopsis in the end-notes of this chapter so you can keep caught up without having to sift through any triggering material.

Jack pulled back immediately. “S’nothin,” he said defensively, folding his arms across his chest. “I jus’, ah…” He was having trouble coming up with an excuse. His entire forearm was covered in scars, beginning from his elbow crease and going all the way down to his wrist. This was in addition to the several fresh cuts from the night before, overlapping the old scar tissue. Race lived with him, so he couldn’t blame it on a cat, because they didn’t have a cat. Even if there was some viable excuse that could actually explain how his arm got sliced to hell, he knew Race wasn’t stupid.

This was why he never took off his hoodie. It had gotten too bad to give any kind of reasonable explanation. But since he never took it off, he had been careless with it gone, being so dependent on its protective barrier and used to its presence. Race was looking up at him now, confusion and despair in his baby blue eyes. 

Eventually, he had to break the silence. “It’s not a big deal, Race,” he said softly, locking his eyes on the blanket covering his lap. He couldn’t bear to look at Race’s puppy-dog eyes, and how sad they were.

“Jack,” Race said quietly.

“It ain’t,” he replied, a bit louder this time. “I got it unda control.”

Race kept looking at him. He was at a loss for words.

“Everyone’s got somethin’,” he continued. “It’s jus’ somethin’ that happens, jus’ every once in awhile, and it ain’t a big deal. I got it unda control,” he repeated.

Race wouldn’t stop staring at him. He was so sad, Jack was starting to feel it. It was like he was just radiating sadness, on Jack’s behalf. It was too much.

“Wouldja quit lookin’ at me like dat?” Jack snapped, standing up to grab his hoodie from across the room where he had dropped it carelessly a couple hours before. 

“How long?” Race asked softly, as Jack slipped the hoodie over his head.

“What?” Jack turned to face him again.

Race looked him in the eye, more deliberate now. “How. Long?” he asked, just as quietly but twice as firm. He wasn’t only sad, now. He was angry. Not at Jack, but at the world. For letting him get to this place.

Jack softened a bit in response. “Six years,” he answered. “Since I was eleven.” 

He didn’t like to think about it. That first time, all those years ago. After a particularly bad day at school, back when he still cared. Enough to attempt homework, anyway. He had been laying in what was his bed at the time, twirling a mechanical pencil, trying to do his English homework in a room that he shared with another kid who wasn’t there at the moment. He was the one who told him about it, though. He said it helped with the pain. Jack didn’t understand that at all. How was making cuts on yourself supposed to help with any kind of pain? But school had been awful. Kids were just horrible to him. He was at his breaking point, and he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t concentrate on reading from how bad he was spiralling into the dark fog of his young mind. So, he glanced up to make sure no one was coming in, and began digging with curiosity into his skin with the mechanical pencil he was holding. It took him a good bit of time, and it stung more than he expected, but eventually, he sat back and admired his handiwork. Etched into his skin from his elbow crease down to his wrist was the word that best defined him: 

_S T U P I D_

He didn’t bother covering up with long sleeves of any kind. At the time, he didn’t really understand the seriousness of his actions, or the stigma that surrounded it. Part of him wanted someone to notice. To take his arm and ask him what happened, and why. He wanted someone to care. The word stayed etched into his skin for a month. He didn’t even attempt to hide it.

Not one person noticed. If they did, they didn’t say anything. 

He found that the kid was right, though. It did help with the pain.

Later, at another place he stayed at, there were some kids in real bad shape. One of them, upon meeting Jack, said, “I assume you’re right-handed?” This was based on the comparative state of his left arm, which he still wasn’t very careful about covering. Not until after this encounter, at least. The kid showed him his arms, which were both completely covered in scars from his shoulders down to his wrists. “Razor blades work better,” he told Jack. “You can jus’ get a pencil sharpener from anywhere an’ unscrew the blade from it. No one suspects a thing.”

Needless to say, he had picked up several tricks along the way. Ever since that fateful day back in sixth grade, he hadn’t ever gone more than a couple of months without a session. 

But it wasn’t a big deal. He could stop anytime he wanted to, he just had no reason or desire to do so. And he wasn’t stupid. He always cleaned up afterwards. While the ideal first-aid supplies were usually unavailable to him, and often were insufficient for the severity of his wounds, he knew how to take care of himself. He used hand sanitizer or rubbing alcohol to disinfect, then either tissues or paper towels to cover the wound. (Bandages big enough to help in any consequential way were rather hard to come by, and he usually bled through them anyway, so he was used to improvising).

It wasn’t like he was trying to kill himself. He knew what he was doing. It was just a few little scratches here and there. He wouldn’t get an infection and he wouldn’t die from it. So, what was the big deal?

But that was not how Race saw it.

“Six years?” he repeated. “Six years, and no one ever said nothin’?”

“I didn’t say dat,” Jack replied, uncomfortable with the direction this conversation had turned. He was trying to look anywhere but at Race, with those sad, desperate, pleading eyes.

“It’s true though, ain’t it? Or at least they neva did nothin’ ‘bout it.” Race knew how it was in the system. He of all people knew.

“It neva became a big deal. And it ain’t one now.”

“Does Medda know?”

Jack shrugged. “I didn’t tell’a, and I ain’t gonna.”

“Why?”

“Why ain’t I tellin’ Medda? Cuz it ain’t none’a her business, and-”

“No, Jack,” said Race, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “I mean, _why?_ ” Even as he asked the question, though, he already knew the answer. It was the same reason he couldn’t eat like a normal person, which just made it even harder for Race. He understood exactly _why_. What he was really asking was, _why do you have to go through this? Why is the world so awful and unfair?_. He hated to see anyone hurting, but especially someone he considered a brother. To know that Jack had been doing this for so long that his arm was marked up beyond repair, and that he had been going through it alone, and that he felt just as bad as Race did all the time, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to help him, it all just damn near broke Race’s heart. As secretive as he was with his own problems, he was extremely sensitive to everyone else’s, and empathetic to a fault. Meaning that when someone in his vicinity was hurting, Race felt it with them, deeply. 

Jack looked up and saw that tears had formed in Race’s blue eyes. He hated when people fussed over him like this. He hated seeing Race so upset about him. He wished he could get him not to care. He cleared his throat, then hardened his demeanor. “Why’s it matta? Whatta you gonna do, ya gonna tell Medda? Report me ta Snyder? Try an’ make me promise I won’t neva do it again?”

“I ain’t no snitch, Jack,” Race said quietly. And he wasn’t stupid. He knew better than to ask him to make a promise he couldn’t keep. Especially because even attempting to do so would make him a hypocrite.

“Well, what then?” Jack didn’t believe for one second that Race would let this go.

Race shrugged. He stood up and walked over to the window, his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t know what the right thing to do was. All he wanted to do was help Jack, but he couldn’t even help himself. The only real thing he could do to potentially get Jack what he needed was to snitch on him, and that was a line he would never cross. Even if he did, there was no guarantee it would even help. He had never seen anything remotely positive come out of adult interference. The next best thing to do for him, then, was to simply be his brother, while he still had the chance. 

Jack shifted uncomfortably. “So, what happens now?”

Race shook his head, staring off into the distance. “I guess the same thing as always. We look out for each odda.” He wanted to cry, but he was not going to do that here. Not right now.

“Das’ it?” Jack was surprised. He had never had this conversation without the other person either flipping out or completely ignoring the issue and acting like it never happened. But Race was doing neither. While it was obvious that he cared a lot, he also seemed to understand it was not his business to do anything about, which Jack appreciated. However, his reaction also indicated to Jack that he really understood what he was going through, maybe better than anyone else ever had. Which made Jack’s heart sink, knowing that that understanding came at a hefty price.

“What else do ya want, Jack? Ya want me ta tell ya it gets betta? Dat I wish ya wouldn’t do it an’ I wish ta God ya didn’t hafta suffer like dis? Dat the world is unfair and horrible but ya gotta suck it up anyway an’ somehow get through this shit, that there’s otha ways’a dealin’ and ya don’t hafta do this, an’ life can be beautiful if ya make it so?” He swallowed, hearing his voice travel upwards but determined not to let his emotions get the better of him. “Yeah, cuz I’m sure you ain’t neva heard all those things before. Clearly it’s been very effective.”

Seeing how bad it was for Jack made him feel extremely hopeless about the future. Jack was gonna leave in a few months and be alone, and he was gonna keep doing what he had always done, and probably get worse. And Race was completely powerless to help him. Clearly, Jack thought he had it under control, but that’s what everyone thinks. If he was really in control, he wouldn’t still be doing it. But Race was in no position to judge. Not that Jack actually fully knew that. But the truth was, Race didn’t have any words of wisdom to offer because he didn’t know how to deal without his crutch, either.

Jack stood looking at Race, whose back was to him. His exhausted and resigned tone made Jack wonder if Race was quoting someone he had known. He wondered if maybe those words had been directed at him before.

He wanted to ask him about it, how he understood so well what Jack was going through and how he just knew what not to say, what he had heard so many times. But before he could find the words, Race sniffled and turned back around without looking at Jack. “I gotta get ready for dance,” he muttered as he picked up his backpack. “I’ll text ya Spot’s numba so’s you can ask ‘im ‘bout the lab you’ll miss.”

“Okay,” Jack said, feeling like he should say something more but not sure what.

Race paused in the doorway, then turned around. “Can I ask ya somethin’?”

“Sure, Race. What’s up?”

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, then said, “Can ya just… I won’t ask ya to promise you’ll stop, but can ya jus... be careful?” He looked back up at him, tears still glistening in his eyes but not fallen yet. “Ya playin’ wit fire, Jack. An’ you know I ain’t neva gonna judge ya, so can ya please jus promise ta be careful, and talk ta me if ya need anythin’? If things get real bad?”

Jack stared at him, then gave a hollow smile. “Don’ worry ‘bout me, Race. I’m always careful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading!! More lighthearted stuff to come, but I actually don't know what yet, lmao. Lmk whatcha thought!! <3
> 
> Synopsis: Race finds out about Jack's self-harm. The reader learns that he has been doing it since he was 11 years old, and gets some details about when/why it started and how it got where it is. Race thinks it is a big deal but agrees not to tell anyone, the external reason being that he is not a snitch, and the internal being that he feels it would make him a hypocrite. Jack worries that there is something Race is not telling him. Race gives Jack Spot's phone number so he can stay caught up in chemistry, then asks Jack to be careful.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medda and Jack have some bonding time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys again so much for your lovely comments, they always always always make me smile so much!! I actually almost gave up on this story but y'all seem to be real invested and it keeps me going :)
> 
> No TW's for this chapter! Just some Jack and Medda family fluff :) Enjoy!!

The next day, Jack was doing housework for Medda. She had given him a list of chores and asked him to do what he could while he was gonna be home, but to make his schoolwork a priority. So, naturally, he found himself scrubbing the grease out of a pot that, frankly, could justifiably be left soaking. He knew he probably should be trying to stay caught up in school, but he honestly couldn't care less. He was still a bit rattled from his talk with Race yesterday. 

It wasn’t that he minded Race knowing. Obviously, other foster kids he lived with had known, too. But it was how much Race cared that left Jack feeling almost guilty for his unwillingness to take care of himself. Whenever it came up with others in the past, the response was usually something along the lines of, “Shit, that’s relatable.” He hated that this was now Race’s burden to bear, that he could see the impact it left on him. 

Medda came into the kitchen, interrupting his thoughts. “Any big plans for the day?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm.

Jack gestured to the pot that both hands were currently submerged in. “Ya lookin’ at ‘em.”

Medda poured herself a cup of coffee. “I was thinkin’. Would you be up for going shopping with me?”

Jack looked up. “Uh… why?” He didn’t mean to sound as rude as he did, he was just taken by surprise.

She gave him a small smile. “I just thought it might be nice, to maybe get to know you a bit better and get you to be more comfortable here.”

Jack gave a shrug. “I mean, yeah, I can. When d’ya wanna go?”

“Whenever you’d like. Could you be ready within the hour?”

“I can be ready right now,” he said, giving up on the pot. “Jus’ lemme fill this up first.” He poured some more dish soap into the pot and let it fill the whole way with water, then shut off the sink. 

_________________________________________________________

A few hours later, Medda and Jack were sitting in a booth at a restaurant. Their car in the parking lot was filled with groceries, brand-new art supplies, as well as lots of clothes for Jack that Medda insisted on getting. When he refused to try things on, they negotiated into him just picking out things that he would wear. Not surprisingly, among these things were two new oversize hoodies. Medda noticed that he didn’t pick out anything that wasn’t long-sleeved, but she didn’t say anything. She did, however, quietly buy him two packs of T-shirts while he was perusing another aisle. 

After they ordered their food, they sat in comfortable silence for a minute. Jack liked Medda. She was probably the best foster parent he had ever gotten to live with, not that that was ultimately saying much. But he didn’t know what to talk about with her, not really. Eventually, though, he didn’t have to decide.

“So it seems you’re adjusting here pretty well,” said Medda.

Jack wanted to laugh. He scoffed and said, “I got suspended the second day inta school. What’s ya standard for not adjusting well?”

“I just mean, relatively speaking. You and Race seem to be getting to know one another. I’m glad to see it, too. I think you two will be good for each other.”

“What makes ya say dat?”

“You’ve got a lot in common.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

Medda thought for a second. “I think you two have had very similar experiences. Pardon my saying so, but neither of you show much regard for rules of any kind. And I think you’re both extremely loyal to your friends, once you do make them. Just judging from how you are with him, and with Charlie. They warmed up to you real fast.”

“They’re good kids,” said Jack. “The kinda kids dat make me wonder if things can get betta. If people can change.”

“Anyone can change, Jack. It’s just a matter of whether you want to.”

Jack nodded slowly. Then the waitress brought their food. Jack dug into his sandwich as Medda twirled some pasta onto her fork. “So what’s Race’s story?” he asked with his mouth full.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’ mean like, alls his history or nothin’. Jus, y’know, is he from around here, do ya know how long he been in the system, that kinda thing? I know Crutchie, he been wid ya basically foreva. An’ I know Race said youz had a lotta kids come thru, but he and Crutchie are the only ones here now. An’ ya call Crutchie Charlie, but does Race go by his real name? I dunno, jus’ wondered.”

“Well, it isn’t my place to tell his story, though I’m sure he’d share if you asked. I can tell you I had the pleasure of taking him in just over a year ago. Race is a name he chose to go by. Charlie likes his nickname, but it isn’t meant to be a new name for himself like it is for Race. As for the other children I have had the privilege to share my home with, I care very much for them all. Some have grown up and moved on, others got to move back in with their families. Not all of them want to keep in touch, and I have to respect that. But from what I can tell, they are mostly doing well.”

“Mus’ be hard,” said Jack, “Takin’ in all these fellas an’ makin’ ‘em feel like they gotta home, knowin’ you ain’t neva gonna see some’a dem again. But it’s like, ya still care for ‘em all like they’s your own.”

“That’s because they are,” she said kindly. “When a child comes to live with me, it isn’t as though I own some kind of hotel that they’re staying at temporarily. They’re here because they need a family, and I am fortunate enough to have the opportunity to provide them with that, for as long as they need it. And that includes you, Jack. I truly want you to be a member of my family.”

Jack looked down, uncomfortable with genuine moments like this. He cleared his throat and said, “So, what gotcha inta foster care?”

Medda gave a sad smile at his predictable avoidance, but obliged his subject change. “It’s like I said, the first time we met. Everyone needs and deserves a home, and I consider it an honor to get to give that to as many as I possibly can.”

“Yeah, but where’s yours? Didn’tcha eva want a real family? I mean like, withya own kids, an’ a spouse, an’ all that?”

Medda thought for a minute before she formulated a response. “I don’t believe flesh and blood necessarily constitutes a ‘real’ family. I never found a partner to be a necessary component for one, either. And I just never found anyone that I liked enough to settle down with. I care more about giving children a home.”

Jack nodded slowly. It seemed to make sense, with what he knew of her. He just had a hard time believing someone as kind as Medda had trouble finding a lifelong partner.

“What about you, Jack?”

“Whaddaya mean, what about me?”

“What constitutes a family to you? What would make you feel like you had one here?”

Jack paused again, uncomfortable with personal questions. “Uh… gee, I dunno, Medda. It’s hard to say, cuz well, I ain’t neva had one before.” What he didn’t say was that, not only had he never had one before, he also had no real desire or intention to.

“Well, I’ll keep asking. So, keep thinking on it so we can get you fully situated here. Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said before taking another bite of his sandwich. “Whateva you want.” It seemed the safest option to just amuse her while he was still here, then leave when the time came. But it was only a matter of time before he exhausted everyone here and they gave up on him. He didn’t know how to tell her that he intended to leave the day he turned eighteen, before any of that had the chance to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I know this was a bit more slow but I thought it was time to give Jack and Medda some screen-time, if you will.  
> I will say that while I'm trying really hard to keep it even, I'm having a much easier time writing about Race for some reason so I might even have to alter the description of the story somewhat... What can I say? Write what you know, so they say... and that's all this is, like 6/10 of the things that happen to Jack and Race are things that actually happened to me, and ppl reading it and enjoying it and caring abt these characters lowkey feels very validating for what I went thru and am still going thru, and right now Race is just extremely relatable to me and I be projecting. I am who I am.  
> ANYWHO. I'm no longer staying a chapter or 2 ahead bc I'm getting a bit lost as to how to get from point A to point B but hopefully I can find my way bc I do have a climax planned that I desperately want to see through. All this to say, let me know what you like and what you don't and maybe it can give me inspiration, lmao. Sorry for this long tangent and thank you for reading!!!!!!!! I love you!!!!!! <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davey, Katherine, Race, and Crutchie sit together at lunch. Everyone just wants Race to be happy. Race is still lowkey having sad-boi hours. His friends are obnoxious but they love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally don't do anything except dance and write anymore and I sleep 2-3 hours a night so here is another chapter fellas!! No TW's here, just some friend fluff stuff :)

Davey, Race, Crutchie, and Katherine sat down together at lunch.

“How’s Jack doing?” asked Katherine.

Race shrugged, picking at his sandwich. “He’s fine, I guess.” Jack’s secret, while he was determined to keep it, weighed on him like a ton of bricks. He was worried sick about him, but he couldn’t express it. To anyone. He was exceptionally good at hiding and dealing with his own problems, but he cared so much about others that he took on their pain, and it was killing him that he didn’t know how to help Jack.

“Would it be helpful if I came over and helped with anything? Maybe I could help him keep caught up in English,” said Davey.

“Yeah, no, fuh-sure. Medda wanted you guys ta come ova soon anyway, she misses ya. Maybe tomorrow,” said Race.

“You feeling alright, Race?” asked Davey. 

“Yeah, dance jus’ got me a lil’ sore last night.” This was actually not a lie. There hadn’t been a class in the studio after his ended, so he stayed and danced until he saw spots. It helped him clear his head, at the expense of his body. 

“Did you see the musical poster? Auditions are next week!” said Katherine.

“Oh, yeah? What is it?” asked Race.

“Mamma Mia. D’you still think you’re gonna audition, Crutchie?”

“I dunno… Prolly won’t decide til the day of. Might chicken out, y’know me,” he said shyly.

“You have nothing to lose by auditioning,” said Davey.

“Then why don’t you try out?” Katherine asked Davey.

“Because unlike Crutchie, I don’t have any desire to do so whatsoever.” This was not entirely true, but it was true enough that he didn’t feel like he was lying. If he had the skills to do it, he knew he would have tons of fun in theatre. But he didn’t have the skills, and was not invested enough to try to develop them.

“Well, the cast is huge, and there’s tons of different kinds of roles where you wouldn’t have to do as much. And it’d be fun to do something all together,” said Katherine. “Would you at least consider it?”

Davey rolled his eyes with a grin. “For you, Katherine, I will consider it. But even if I don’t, I’ll still do pit orchestra. I’ll be there to support you every step of the way as...what’s her name?”

“Sophie,” Katherine said dreamily. It was no secret to anyone that she wanted the lead. “It’s not likely I’ll get it, but I gotta try, you know?”

“Damn straight,” Race said halfheartedly. “Youz a shoo-in anyway, Kath. But either way, s’a big show an’ you’ll fuh-sure at least make a featured role. I’d bet anythin’.”

Katherine beamed. “Thanks, Race, that means a lot.” 

“What’s that on ya arm?” asked Crutchie. Race closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, knowing exactly what he was talking about without having to look. Sharpie did not come off of skin easily. _Why did he have to write it so big?_ he thought to himself. While it was nice that Spot gave him his number, he did wish he didn’t cover his entire forearm with it. In permanent marker.

“S’, ah, jus’ a friend’s numba. Wanted me ta text ‘im lata, not a big deal,” said Race. 

“Oh, yeah? Which friend?” asked Davey.

“Spot Conlon,” Race said evenly. At this, Katherine and Davey both looked up. They of all people knew how Race felt about him. That was one area where he did not particularly excel at hiding his feelings. Plus, Davey had been in their class last year when he and Spot read for Romeo and Juliet. Race had had heart eyes for the guy ever since, and it was not subtle. Crutchie, being two years younger and in middle school until this year, was out of the loop, and listened eagerly to learn more.

“He gave you his number?” asked Katherine, shocked.

“‘Das what I said. It ain’t a big deal,” said Race, feeling his cheeks heating up. There were a lot of things he hated about his body, but his tomato-red blush that gave away anything he tried to hide had to make the top ten.

“When? Why?” asked Davey, equally as shocked.

“Yestaday. It ain’t a big deal,” he repeated. “We jus, we had an encounter, an’ he gave me his numba.”

“What kind of encounter?” asked Davey, intrigued.

“Does it matta? I ain’t texted ‘im, and I ain’t gonna,” said Race.

“You _aren’t_? Why the hell not?” demanded Katherine.

Race shrugged, somewhat irritated. “I ain’t got nothin’ ta say? Why is this any’a your guys’ business?” He resented that anyone with eyes could figure out his stupid crush. And he hated that his friends were so supportive and wanted him to find love so bad. It was annoying.

“Race, you know I adore you, but that may just be the stupidest decision you have ever made,” said Katherine.

“I mean, the guy wrote his number on your arm, in— is that permanent marker?!” exclaimed Davey. 

“If you don’t text him, we will, pretending to be you. And you don’t want that,” said Katherine.

Race quickly moved his arm underneath the table. She was right— he _didn’t_ want that. “Can’ya guys please jus’ leave it? I ain’t got nothin’ ta offer, an’ he’s way outta my league. Jus’ leave me ta my unrequited angsty pining bullshit,” he said, sounding desperate. Then, Katherine and Davey looked down at their phones at the same time, then at each other, then at Crutchie, who was looking rather guilty. Race furrowed his eyebrows and looked at all three of them, trying to figure out what he missed. “What jus’ happened?” demanded Race.

Crutchie gave a small, sheepish grin. “While youz guys was arguing, I copied the numba down an’ sent it ta Katherine and Davey.” He just wanted Race to find love, and didn’t understand why if he had liked this guy for so long, and had this golden opportunity to shoot his shot, he wasn’t shooting it. So, he decided that if he wouldn’t, they might just have to shoot it for him. 

“Ball’s in your court, Race,” said Davey. He hadn’t actually had any intention of following through on this threat because he felt it would be crossing a line. But he wasn’t sure what Katherine’s stance would be, so he was a bit worried for Race now.

Race buried his head in his hands, exasperated. “I fucking hate you guys,” he muttered. “I don’ even know what ta say to ‘im.”

“You could start with, ‘hi’?” suggested Davey.

Race gave him a look that made Davey thankful that looks could not kill. “‘Hi?’ Das it? Is that what you guys woulda sent?”

“Oh, no, definitely not,” said Katherin, in a saucy tone. “If it was _me_ , I would have said something really daring, like, ‘Hey, this is Race. You gave me your number yesterday. How’s it goin’?’”

“Oh, I dunno, Kath. That might be crossin’ a line,” said Crutchie before they all laughed. Except Race, who was far too flustered to find anything funny right now. 

“Maybe I’d throw a ‘sexy’ in there somewhere,” she added with a chuckle. 

“You guys are the worst,” mumbled Race. 

“Oh, c’mon, Race. We just don’t want you to waste this opportunity. I mean, he wrote his number on your arm. What’s it gonna say when you don’t do anything with it?” said Katherine.

“He might not even swing my way,” Race said defensively. “Does he give off straight vibes? I think he might give off straight vibes.”

“Only one way to find out,” said Davey. “Text him. Right now.”

“Fine,” he muttered angrily, just to get them off his back. He pulled out his phone, typed in the number that he had accidentally but inevitably memorized, and. Stared at his screen. He couldn’t do this.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Give it here,” said Katherine, making a grab for his phone. But he was too quick for her.

“I’m _doin’_ it, Kath. Jesus,” he said. He stared at his phone for another minute, then eventually typed,

**Hey Spot, this is Race. U gave me ur number yesterday. How’s it goin?**

He continued staring at what he had typed, his face gradually heating up more. Eventually, he plopped his phone down on the table in frustration and folded his arms. “I can’t do this.”

This time, Davey reached out and took the phone. He read what Race had typed aloud as Katherine read over his shoulder, then said, “Race, this is fine. Do you want to send it?”

“I dunno,” he sighed. “Are ya sure it’s alright?”

“Gee, I don’t know, Race. Really think you mighta gone too far,” Crutchie said dryly. 

“Too bad. It’s sent,” said Katherine, reaching over Davey’s shoulder and pressing send before anyone could stop her. 

“Great,” said Race, anxious to move on. “Can I have my phone back, please? Also, can ya maybe neva show interest in my life eva again?”

“Oh, come on. We just wanted to help you out,” said Katherine, handing him his phone.

“Well, I didn’t ask for ya help. Anyway, whattabout you guys? Don’tcha wanna find someone for yisselves?” he demanded.

Katherine shrugged halfheartedly. “I’m focused on my career. I don’t want to invest in a high school relationship.”

“Being a freshman, I think I oughta jus’ give it some time,” said Crutchie.

Race nodded, annoyed but satisfied. Then, he looked at Davey. “Whattabout you, smarty pants? Got anyone’s numba written on YOUR arm?”

Davey grinned sheepishly. “You know me, Race. Ain’t no one interested in me. I’m just waiting for the right person to come along. I’m not opposed to it or anything, it just hasn’t happened yet. No one has really caught my eye here, y’know?”

“I hear ya,” said Race, still determined to keep the subject off of himself for the rest of lunch. And then, the rest of forever. “Well, maybe we can help ya find someone ta take ta homecoming.”

“Oh yeah, that’s coming up soon, right?” asked Crutchie.

“In like a month,” said Katherine. “Do you guys think you’re gonna go?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Davey. “Might be a bit of a time crunch to try and find a person to ask, and ask them in time to make plans, though.”

“Could be fun,” said Crutchie. “I ain’t neva been to a high school dance before.”

“I think we should all go. With or without dates,” she said.

“We’ll see,” said Race, not really listening as he drummed his fingers on the table, trying not to check his phone. This was why he never wanted to text Spot in the first place. 

As the bell rang, dismissing them to their next class, Race felt his phone finally buzz. He looked down to read a new message:

**Was starting to worry you’d forgot, lol. R u feeling better today?**

He looked up and saw that Katherine, Davey, and Crutchie were way ahead of him already, and hadn’t noticed his phone buzz. Knowing he wasn’t being watched, he let himself give a little smile as he read the text again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!!!! <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katherine and Davey come over to hang out with the boys and the gang gossips together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some more friend fluff :)

The next day was Friday. Katherine and Davey came home with Race and Crutchie after school. Their intentions were to hang out a little bit, but mostly study together and practice for auditions. 

They went down the hall to Jack’s room and knocked on his door before entering.

“So, Jack, how’s being suspended?” asked Katherine, before Davey lightly punched her in the arm.

“C’mon, Kath, you can’t just ask that,” he said as he slid into the wheely chair.

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s actually not too bad. It ain’t my first time, an’ it’s kinda nice ta not be in school. ‘Specially fuckin’ gym,” said Jack, sitting up straighter in his bed with his sketchbook in hand. He had been drawing again, his pile of homework on the desk next to him clearly neglected. He was going back to school Monday and had done absolutely nothing to prepare for it.

“Did you tell him about the musical?” Davey asked Race.

“Nah, I didn’t get the chance,” Race replied as he sat on the floor and began to stretch. He hadn’t gotten to talk to Jack very much. He had stayed late at the studio the night before once again.

“It’s Mamma Mia!” said Crutchie, who sat down at the foot of Jack’s bed. “Auditions are a week from today.”

“Do you think you’d try out?” Davey asked Jack.

Jack sighed. “Actually, as part’a my punishment, I gotta do set construction. So I guess I’ll be seein’ a lotta youz.”

“ _That’s_ your punishment?” exclaimed Katherine. “Are you serious? I mean, yeah, it’s not the most fun job, but believe me when I say it could have been a lot worse.”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” said Jack. “Like I says, it ain’t my first time. An’ it prolly won’t be my last.”

“Gee, that’s the spirit,” Race said sarcastically. 

“Actually,” Jack said, “I guess it could be. Medda says if it happens again, I gotta go ta therapy.”

“Again, if that’s the worst it gets for you, consider yourself lucky,” said Katherine.

“Yeah, Jack, ah, no offense, but… even if it don’t happen again… I’m not sure it’d be such a bad idea for you ta go,” Race said cautiously. Maybe this was the opportunity for Jack to get some real help.

“Why do you say that?” asked Davey.

“Nothin’,” he said quickly, averting his eyes to the ground. “Jus’, everyone can benefit from havin’ someone ta talk to. Medda made me go when I first got here,” he added. “It wasn’t too bad.”

“Did it help?” Jack asked hesitantly.

“I’m not sure,” Race confessed. “But it didn’t hurt to try.” He thought it might have helped, if he had had a better therapist and if he had stuck with it.

“Race, if you don’t mind me asking, why’d you stop?” asked Davey.

“Oh, dance just started takin’ up more and more’a my time, an’ Medda agreed I was doin’ betta so she lemme stop goin’ so’s I could focus on it more.” And, to his credit, dance did help. It was the most important thing in the world to him, and having a passion to invest in gave him a sense of purpose. Plus, the regular exercise helped his brain make the happy juice. It was what his ex-therapist called a “healthy coping skill.” What she didn’t know, and wouldn’t acknowledge, was that it was feeding into his unhealthy coping skills. One time he had cautiously tried to bring it up to her, but she dismissed him, saying that he didn’t meet the weight requirement for that sort of thing. And it wasn’t something boys struggle with, anyway. 

So, yeah, Race stopped going. It didn’t mean the words ever stopped echoing around in his head, though. But since according to a professional it wasn’t a problem for him, he figured it would be fine if he kept doing what he was doing. 

“Well, all the power to ya, Race. Truly. But I ain’t got no interest in sittin’ in some chair in some office talkin’ to a stranger ‘bout my stupid problems when I can jus’ figure my shit out on my own,” said Jack.

“I hear ya,” Race said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. He couldn’t push it, though, because it would make him a hypocrite. He pulled out his phone to distract himself, then gave a tiny smile and blushed as he saw he had another new text. He thought for a minute, then typed something back.

“Whatcha doin’ there, Race?” Davey asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“Nothin’,” he said, quickly flipping his phone over. Ever the king of subtlety.

“Did Spot text you back yesterday?” asked Crutchie.

“Uh… yeah, yeah he did,” he replied.

“Well, what’d he say?!” demanded Katherine.

Race gave a little shrug, turning redder by the minute. “I dunno… just normal stuff,” he said shyly. The truth was, they had been texting almost nonstop ever since lunch the day before, with some pauses in between for no more than a few hours. He figured Spot just thought he didn’t have any friends, and he was a nice guy, which would explain their ongoing text conversation. But even so, he was over the moon to get to talk to him at all. 

“‘Normal stuff’? What the fuck does that even mean?” Jack asked.

“Was that him you were texting just now?” asked Davey.

“That’s none’a ya business,” he said, trying to sound forceful and failing miserably. “‘Sides, we agreed yestaday you heathens would neva show interest in my life eva again.”

“I didn’t agree ta nothin’,” Jack said defiantly.

“None of us did. Race made a statement that we should never show interest in his life again, and we ignored it. And we will continue to do so, because we are your friends, and we love you!” Katherine said before throwing her arms around him and squeezing him in a side-hug on the floor. Race rolled his eyes and endured it for a second before gently shoving her off to check his phone again.

“Is that him again?!” she demanded. “Race, you have to ask him to homecoming.”

“God, Kath, we’re just texting. Friends do that. Acquaintances do that. I still think he’s straight,” he replied. “‘Sides, I’m sure someone as cool as him has already got a date.”

“Why don’tcha ask ‘im?” asked Davey. 

“Can ya please jus’ back off? I’m texting a friend. Das it. Youz are makin’ it out ta be like… like he likes me back, or somethin’. I don’ wanna talk ‘bout it no more.” All of a sudden, he was hit with an intense wave of sadness because he knew he was speaking the truth. While he and Spot might be becoming friends now, there was no way he would ever actually like him the same way. 

“Okay, sure,” Crutchie said. “Jack, are you gonna go to homecoming?”

“Not unless there’s some reason I absolutely hafta,” he replied. “I ain’t neva been one fuh dances. Neva even been ta one.”

“That’s all the more reason to go!” said Katherine. “We all said we should go together. It would be so fun if you came!”

“What, none’a you guys have a date or nothin’?” asked Jack. It surprised him that neither Davey nor Katherine had a significant other.

“No… You could come with one of us as a date! Y’know, get the matching flowers an’ coordinating colors and all that. As friends, of course,” Davey added quickly.

“When even is it?” asked Jack.

“In like a month,” said Katherine.

“I’ll think about it,” he said. He didn’t really have any intention to think about it, but he wanted to be polite. And after the thing with Race and Spot, Jack saw how pushy they could be and wanted no part of it. “Didn’t youz all come ova ta practice? For auditions or somethin’?”

“Oh, right! Yes. Okay, so for the audition, we sing a song and do a monologue, and if you get a callback, they make you dance. So we were gonna perform here for each other, and give critiques,” said Katherine. 

“Go for it, Kath,” said Race as he continued stretching. 

Katherine practiced her audition from start to finish, including her entrance and exit. Everyone applauded for her, pretending like they were really doing an audition. 

“Absolutely stunning. There’s our Sophie, right there. Auditions canceled, we have our girl!” Race said, doing an impression of their director. 

“Thank you, thank you,” she said, giving an exaggerated bow as she smiled from ear to ear. Eventually Katherine coaxed everyone into performing for the group, except Jack. They didn’t end up doing anything terribly productive, but they did make each other laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! <3


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race, Jack, and Spot enjoy an unplanned afternoon coffee together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so so much for your feedback!! Every morning I check the comments and I'm always so happy to read what y'all have to say. I'm so glad you like this story!!  
> Sidenote, my tumblr is lettuce-seize-the-day if you were curious :)  
> No TW's here other than the normal stuff, but there is a good amount of secondhand embarrassment and cringey material. I know that's worse for some ppl than triggering stuff so, you've been warned!!  
> This is literally my favorite chapter and it turns out that the only thing I know how to write is Race as a disaster gay with an eating disorder. That's what we call projection babey!!!

The next day, Race woke up later than everyone else. His body was slowly but surely getting weaker and demanded more rest. It also made it much harder for him to actually fall asleep and stay asleep. When he did finally wake up in the early afternoon, he rolled out of bed and looked in the mirror hanging on his door, taking in the shape of his body. His Spongebob Squarepants boxers sat low on his slim figure, resting on his slightly protruding hipbones. He traced his hand against his ribs, which were just beginning to show under a layer of fat, fat, fat. It was possible that he might be getting thinner, but he couldn’t really tell.

Race went through his drawers and sighed when he realized he was out of all his good clothes. Upon deciding he would do laundry today, he picked up a dirty shirt off of his floor and put it on. There was a stain on it and he felt kinda gross, but he had no plans to leave the house or have any guests that day, and he was too cold to not have a shirt on now that he was not under several layers of blankets.

He wanted to brush his teeth, but his head pounding told him what he needed to do first was have his first meal of the day- a cup of coffee. He walked down the hall and to the kitchen, singing showtunes to himself and dancing as he poured the water into the coffee maker.

“Aftanoon, Racer,” he heard Jack say from the table behind him. “Wouldja mind to make enough fuh three? I didn’t get as much as I wanted earlier.”

“Sure thing, Jack,” he called back out, not thinking about why Jack wanted coffee for three people. He got really into his miniature performance, singing “Without Love” from _Hairspray_ and choreographing a little dance for himself while he waited for the coffee to make itself. Toward the climax of the song, he gave a spin and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw that Jack was not alone at the table.

Spot and Jack were both staring at him, amused. Jack was more than used to Race’s musical theatre antics by now, but Spot’s face, and Race’s face looking at Spot’s face, was absolutely priceless and Jack was struggling to hold it together. And, to be fair, Race singing and dancing full-out in the kitchen in his Spongebob boxers when he thought only Jack was there was certainly a sight to behold.

It really wasn’t Jack’s fault, either. Spot had only just texted him that morning and asked if they could meet up today so their report was finished for Monday. Jack immediately texted Race to let him know, but he had been asleep, and apparently didn’t check his phone in the morning.

After everyone had sat frozen for what felt to Race like an eternity, Spot said, “You’re tryin’ out for the musical, right?”

Race nodded, currently unable to speak.

“Well… uh, good. That’s good. You got talent. And, uh, I dig the Spongebob,” he continued.

Race wanted to ask what on Earth he was doing here, now, today, and why he hadn’t been warned about it before walking into the kitchen with horrendous morning breath while wearing a stained shirt and Spongebob boxers. But he still couldn’t speak. Luckily, Jack could. “Spot and I was just workin’ on our report from the chem lab I missed Thursday.”

Race nodded again. Jack gave him a look, urging him to use words like a human being. When he didn’t, Spot did. “You feelin’ alright, Race? Ya lookin’ jus’ like ya did the otha day, when I found ya in the bathroom.”

“What happened in the bathroom?” asked Jack.

Race started to try and say that it was nothing, absolutely nothing of consequence, don’t worry about it. He had just gotten Jack off his trail about his eating thing and he did not need him to be worried about him, especially with everything he had going on. Plus, he badly needed to lose weight, and he could not have Jack monitoring him. But Spot was here, so his idiot filter was on, and he couldn’t talk. All he could do was desperately shake his head. But Spot wasn’t catching on.

“Oh, he was real sick,” said Spot. “Poor guy was throwin’ up. I offered ta take ‘im to da nurse but he wasn’t havin’ it. I blame the cafeteria food. Stupid school just don’t serve decent lunches.”

Jack looked back at Race. He knew he always brought his lunch, but now did not seem the time to bring it up. While still looking at Race, he replied, “Aw, das too bad. I didn’t hear ‘bout it.”

“Wasn’t a big deal,” Race finally spoke, in a shaky voice.

"Maybe you oughta eat somethin'? Medda made pancakes. I saved some for ya," said Jack. "Might be cold now, but I could heat 'em up. Or there's fruit, cereal, you know what we got."

“S’fine, I’m good, jus’, ah, sleepy. Y’know. Need my coffee. Ya know what dey say,” said Race.

“No, what do they say?” asked Spot.

Fuck. “Uh… y’know… jus’, ah… need coffee. Before doing other stuff. Including talking. Or eating. Gotta get dat bean juice.” _Fuck._ He wondered when or if he would ever be able to have a normal fucking interaction with Spot. It didn’t seem fair he only ever seemed to catch him at his worst.

“Right…” Spot said, nodding slowly. “No, for sure. Coffee’s great.”

Jack couldn’t be internally cringing harder. Externally, he wasn’t doing much better. He had to help Race out here.

“So, Spot, do ya know if ya goin’ to that homecomin’ dance?” Jack asked. Race quickly spun back around to face the coffee maker, doing his best to seem uninterested.

"Um, prolly, yeah. Most’a the fellas on the socca team go, so I usually gotta. I’m the only one without a date, though,” he said.

“Why don’tcha got a date?” Jack asked.

“Oh, s’just all the otha fellas have girlfriends or someone designated to take ta stuff. But I ain’t found no one who’s really my type ‘round here.” He gave a brief, almost imperceptible glance up at Race, who was still facing away from him, before turning back to Jack. “Whattabout youz? Are ya gonna go ta the dance?”

“Oh, me? I dunno. But Race, we was all tellin’ him yestaday he should totally go. ‘Specially with those dance moves a’his. Don’tcha think he oughta go?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Dances can be fun, I guess. And, we could, y’know, hang out. In person,” said Spot, looking back at Race. “We been textin’ a bunch, but we don’t get to chat much in real time.”

“Yeah, fuh-sure,” Race said quietly. “Could be fun.”

“So you think you’re gonna go?” asked Spot.

“Oh, uh, I dunno. Maybe,” said Race.

“Well… if you do… lemme know. We could, like, uh, carpool. Or somethin’. Like, we could go together.”

Race stopped dead in his tracks, then turned around slowly. Jack also seemed surprised. As usual, though, Spot seemed cool as a cucumber.

“You mean like, go to the dance together?” Race asked.

“I mean, das what I said,” he answered, typing something into his calculator absentmindedly. “S’just, yknow. If ya whole group of friends goes, there’s five of ya. An’ like I said, I’s the only one on the socca team without someone ta go wid. So it just kinda makes sense. Numbas wise, I mean. If ya wanted.”

Race was speechless. He could not believe this was actually happening. He turned back around and poured himself a mug of coffee with shaking hands. Obviously, Spot was only asking as friends, but still. Eventually, it occurred to him that he never actually responded. He cleared his throat and gave a little shake of his head to bring himself back to reality. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea. Makes sense. Let’s do it.” He turned back around and took a sip of his coffee, leaning against the counter to try and look chill.

“Great. It’s a date, then,” said Spot.

Race choked on his coffee. Jack had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. As Race was coughing his brains out, Spot asked, “Geez, you alright?”

Race nodded, still coughing. He excused himself to go put on pants and to catch his breath. After closing the door to his room, he finally seemed to have cleared the coffee from his lungs. He looked in the mirror and, while he hated what he saw, he couldn’t help but grin in spite of himself. He grabbed a pillow off his bed and squeezed it as he jumped up and down a little bit, then buried his head in it and gave a joyful little squeal.

_It’s a date, then._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed as much as I did :) Let me know what you thought!!!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Race have another heart to heart :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi loves, sorry this took so long!! A lot's happened and I'm terribly sorry for the effect that had on this fic coming out regularly :( I've genuinely thought about this fic every day, so it's a huge relief to finally post this!! Please enjoy and leave a comment if you do, let me know what you think :)
> 
> TW- specific discussion of eating disorder behaviors

Spot didn’t end up leaving until around 4 pm. He and Jack got along well, and after they finished their lab and Spot talked through the lessons he missed, they chatted for a little bit. Jack could see why Race liked him so much- he was kind, funny, and very chill. Two of those were things he very much had in common with Jack’s new foster brother. But it was hard to get a major read on Spot’s feelings for Race, not to mention Jack’s chronic lack of gay-dar. 

After Spot left, Jack cleaned up his school stuff and, upon seeing what time it was, heated up a plate of pancakes to bring to Race. It had to have been almost 24 hours since the kid had eaten anything.

When Jack knocked on his door, he could hear Britney Spears’ _Toxic_ playing behind the door. He tried again, but Race obviously couldn’t hear. Cautiously, he began to open the door with one hand, the plate of food in the other. Race was on the floor, doing some series of crunches. His eyes were closed, clearly trying to push himself to get the most out of his workout.

“Race,” said Jack. He didn’t hear him, he was too concentrated. “RACER,” he said, louder this time.

Race jumped a bit, startled. He looked up at Jack, then shut off his music. “Sorry, Jack. Jus’ doin’ my daily workout.” It actually wasn’t his daily workout. He was ecstatic to be going to homecoming with Spot, but the elation was immediately met with panic. He _had_ to be perfect. He had several weeks, and dammit, he was going to get his body looking absolutely gorgeous, or he would not go. He wasn’t going to embarrass Spot like that. Or himself, for that matter. So, yeah, his exercise and diet routine needed to get stricter.

Which is why, when he saw what Jack had in his hand, he felt a pit form in his stomach.

“So, what’s up, Jackie?” Race asked, as casually as he could.

“It’s four in the aftanoon, an’ I happen ta know ya ain’t eaten anythin’ yet taday. So, I brought ya dis.” Jack gestured to the plate in his hand, then set it on Race’s desk.

“Thanks,” said Race, making no motion towards it whatsoever. “So… how was studyin’?”

Jack scoffed as he sat on Race’s bed. “Fine, Racer. It was fine. Now can we talk about how ya got a date fuh homecoming now, or…?”

Race blushed and smiled shyly as he sat up. “I dunno how dat even happened, Jack. He’s so far outta my league, we ain’t even playin’ da same game.”

“I know, I know. It’s jus’ cuz’ I’mma badass wingman. What can I say?”

“Oh, are ya? How exactly did ya contribute to my scorin’ a date ta homecomin’ wid da one an’ only Spot Conlon?” Race asked with a smirk.

“‘Das easy. It neva woulda happened if I didn’t get suspended, an’ if I wasn’t his chemistry pardna. So. Ya welcome,” Jack replied smartly. 

Race gave a little grin as his blush deepened, just thinking back to what had happened. “Thanks, Jack,” he said.

“Anytime, Racer. S’what I’m here for.” There was a pause for just a second, then Jack spoke again. “So… that day he gave ya his numba… that was the day he was talkin’ about?”

Race shifted uncomfortably, automatically tensing up in defense. “Yeah. Jus’ got real nauseous, alluva sudden. And a’course, das when the hottest guy at school had ta come inta da bathroom. As I’m hurlin’ my guts out.”

“Dat happen often?” Jack asked casually.

Race shrugged. “I dunno, not really. I jus, y’know. Get nauseous, an’ it happens. When I get real upset sometimes. I jus gotta sensitive stomach, an’ I was real upset dat day, cuz’ youz got yaself suspended. If ya recall.”

“I do recall, thank you, Racer,” Jack said dryly. Jack paused. “So… das it? Ya sure there ain’t nothin’ else goin’ on? Cuz ya know you can tell me.”

“Yeah, a’course there ain’t nothin’ else. What else would there be?”

They held eye contact for a moment, then Jack looked away. He stood up and walked over to Race’s window, and looked out at the city. They sat in silence for another minute, then Jack spoke again. 

“My last fosta home, der was dis girl there.” Race sat quietly, waiting for Jack to continue. “Maybe a year or two younga dan me. We was there togedda… wasn’t more dan seven months. An’ she wasn’t real skinny. Not fat or even chubby by any means, but when I met her, ya wouldn’t’a thought she was unhealthy, at all.” Jack sighed and shook his head. “Maybe dat was parta da problem.”

“Whaddaya mean?” Race asked, anxious as to where Jack was going with this.

“Well, a few weeks afta getting there, I started noticing some stuff. Cuttin’ up her plate inta real small pieces. Goin’ ta take a showa straight afta dinna, every single day. Once, I got up ta get some wata in da middle of da night, maybe three a.m., an’ I walked past her room an’ she was doin’ crunches.” He closed his eyes, lost in the memory. He wished he could have helped her better. “I mentioned it ta tha folks, but dey said if she needed help, she’d hafta ask for it. An’ a’course I said, das bullshit, but the mom insisted dat she wasn’t skinny enough for it ta be a real problem.”

Race winced as he heard those words. The words he was terrified of being met with if he ever tried to open up. “What happened ta her?” Race asked in a small voice.

Jack looked back at Race, and couldn’t help thinking of how much he reminded him of her. The same cheerful spirit, empathy and compassion for others, not to mention the way of avoiding eye contact when the conversation’s focus is shifted to them. 

Jack swallowed, and shrugged again. “Well, I tried ta talk ta her, but she didn’t want help. Insisted she didn’t need it. There wasn’t much I could do. But she got skinny, real fast. The folks didn’t see it ‘til she fainted at school. No one did, ‘cuz she always wore big clothes. But by the time they did…” Jack closed his eyes for a second, then opened them and sighed. “The state took her back. Put her in a residential hospital for treatment. Dat was just a week or two ‘fore I left, too.”

Race nodded solemnly, then asked, “Why are ya tellin’ me this?”

Jack looked back at his brother, and they held eye contact for a moment. Race watched Jack look from him, over to the untouched pancakes, then back to him. Then he looked down at the floor, still feeling Jack’s eyes on him. “Whydaya think, Race?”

Race could feel his heart beating in his chest. “It’s not like that. It’s not a big deal, Jack.”

“Race,” Jack said quietly.

“It ain’t,” he replied, a bit louder this time. “I got it unda control.” Race couldn’t help but think of the last time they had had this exact conversation, word for word, but in reverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes it's technically been eight months. So sorry about that!! I had been doing a chapter a day, as you may recall, but then after 14, I decided I needed to make an outline so I could know where the story was heading. Then once the outline was made I simply did not want to write the story. I wanted that outcome and those plotpoints but i had NO desire to write it. So I stopped, hoping I would eventually want to write that story. Then after 8 months I said fuck the outline and trashed it, and wrote this in one sitting. 
> 
> Since the last chapter, I have had 2 full-time jobs, gotten COVID, got a newsies tattoo, bought a car, found a dance studio, fell in love (unrequited naturally) and gotten reobsessed with supernatural. (Not in that order! I was quarantined for 2 months when I got COVID).
> 
> I can't make any promises for regular updates but I promise I'll do my best!! Please, please let me know what you think because seeing your guys' kind and sweet comments are what brought me to try to finish this and not just leave it :) Thank you so much for reading!!!!  
> tumblr: lettuce-seize-the-day.tumblr.com


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